Tintomara
by Moonspring
Summary: New summary! To protect the most important thing in the world to her, Buffy is forced to move from London to a small village in rural england. Set about 17 months post Chosen, six months post NFA. Spuffy!
1. Chapter 1

_**Authors note:**_ I am reposting my story "Blood-letting" here, under the name "Tintomara". I managed to coax my brother into lending me his old laptop for a few weeks until I get enough money to buy a new one. You may remember that my old computer died on me a few days ago? Anyway, the first chapter is now thoroughly checked for spelling mistakes, and chapter 2 should be posted within next week. Thank you! Now, on with the story!

_**Disclaimer: **_All characters recognisable from BtVS or MM are not mine (sadly). The BtVS characters belong to Joss Whedon and the nice people at Mutant Enemy Productions. The MM Characters and recognisable places belong to Caroline Graham and ITV1. I'm just borrowing them for a while, and I promise to give them back :).

_**Chapter 1**_

"Do you like it, sweetie? Think we can live here for a while?"

Buffy lifted her eight month old daughter from the stroller and held her against her hip. She inspected the small two storey cottage thoroughly; took notice of the red brick walls, the small windows with thick, old glass, and the roses climbing up the side of the wall next to the green painted front door. The roses were an old breed, small, deep red and very fragrant. Giles had held a short lecture on the varieties of old English roses when he first had visited the cottage with her, gone through their names and the differences between them. She couldn't remember the name of the deep red ones that were growing in the garden, as usual when Giles went deep into a specific topic that didn't particularly interest her she closed of her ears and just nodded along when it seemed appropriate to do so.

But these roses were really beautiful."Note to self; ask Giles again about the name", she muttered. She took a moment to glance around the small overgrown garden. It would take a lot of work to get it somewhat decent, but then again, it wasn't like she had anything better to do during the daylight hours; she could see herself take up gardening.

A soft whimper from the child in her arms broke her musings. " Oh, I'm sorry honey, you must be so tired! It's quite a way to travel here from London! Lets get you inside and put you down, okay? Mommy's sorry Heather."

She managed to fish her keys up from her jeans pocket without dislodging the now fussing child from her secure grip. She walked the short way from the garden gate to the front door and opened it. Gently rocking and cooing the baby she quickly went up he stairs to the small nursery she had set up the week before moving in. She put the little girl to bed and stayed with her until she was fast asleep. She gently stroked the soft honey coloured curls on the child's head as heather closed her striking blue eyes. Eyes just like her fathers.

When she was convinced Heather was in deep sleep, she quietly made her way down to the kitchen. Small and quite rustic, but very charming and cosy, she could already see herself sitting by the round table by the window drinking hot chocolate on dark winter evenings. A sad little smile grazed her lips at that thought; she was thinking of him again. Something so simple as hot chocolate could bring tears to her eyes, but she bit them back. She'd had her time for grief and mourning, now was the time to look forward. Both for her sake as well as for Heathers.

Shaking her head to clear her mind she went over to the freezer and started rummaging trough it in search for an evening snack. "Bless you Giles!" she said to herself when she found a packet of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough .

It was only seven o'clock in the evening, and dusk had just started to settle. It wouldn't be dark for a while. She felt herself wishing she could head out for a quick patrol, but she couldn't leave an eight month old by herself, and there probably weren't that many nasties out here. The English countryside seemed almost to tranquil and calm to bee true. She quickly quieted the nagging voice inside her head that whispered that when it seemed to good to be true, it most often was. Besides, that's why she had moved out here in the first place she reminded herself; to move Heather to a quiet and safe place, as far away as possible from The Things That Go Bump In The Night.

Unfortunately, the increasingly annoying little voice was trying hard to get noticed, but she comforted herself with the fact that she only would be alone out here for another nine days, then Dawn would come down from London when she finished school for the summer. After that she could con her little sister in to babysitting if she felt the urge to try and look up the (supposedly non-existent) nasties of the rural, idyllic English village she had moved to.

She remembered the conversation she had had with Giles the week after she had made her decision to relocate herself and her daughter. After the event that thereafter always would be labelled in her head as "The Wake-up Call" she had asked her watcher for help, and he hadn't disappointed her.

_**Three Weeks Earlier**_

Giles looked up from his desk with an annoyed frown on his face for being disturbed when he heard the door creek open. He really needed to get those hinges greased! But when he saw who it was that stood in front of him the initial irritation quickly faded and he only uttered a small sigh. She was the only one who could get away with entering his office without knocking and not be severely reprimanded for it. Mainly because he had learned the hard way that it wouldn't do any good.

"Buffy," he greeted her with a nod. "Where is Heather? Surely, after what happened last week, you wouldn't leave her unattended?"

"No, I left her with Dawn and Rona in the training room, but there is probably another five girls there by now. After what happened all the girls are being overly protective, and thank God for that!"

"Yes, thank God for that." Giles sighted again and pinched the bridge of his nose above his glasses. "The attack was almost successful. If it weren't for Paul..."

"Yes, I Know" Buffy said quietly and looked down at her feet, trying to swallow her tears.

"If it weren't for Paul, I wouldn't have my daughter. She would probably be dead."

The incident, or Buffy's wake up call, had transpired the week before. Buffy had put Heather down for a nap in the nursery next to her own bedroom on the third floor in the council headquarters building, and then she had gone down the stairs to the training room in the basement to lecture the girls currently in training on the things that you Under No Circumstances Aim Or Point A Crossbow At, particularly Giles collection of books on demon lore from the sixteenth century.

While she had been down in the basement, chewing the slayers-in-training's ears out, Paul Horner, a watcher in training and somewhat of Giles protégé walked up the stairs on his way to the library on the four floor. He stopped before his foot could settle on the last set of stairs and cocked his head, listening to the soft sound of... something coming from the nursery. It sounded almost like curtains flapping in the breeze, but he was certain that the windows in the nursery was to be closed at all times, and besides, it was dead calm outside. He just came in from the garden.

He quietly made his way towards the door of Heaters room, ever careful not to wake the baby. She was renowned for her incredibly strong pair of lungs, and he didn't particularly want his eardrums shattered. He inched the doors open and looked inside the room, and then freezed. In front of the crib was a creature he'd never seen before, and despite his vast knowledge of different demons and hellish creatures he could honestly say that he never had thought that he would lay eyes on something as vile as this... thing!

It was not big, the top of its head would barely reach his chin if it stood straight, but as it was, the creature was hunched over and bent almost double, so it seemed even smaller than it actually was. It had big, leathery wings attached to its back, outstretched and ready to flap and let the thing fly away through the open window at a moments notice.

But what made the bile rise in Paul throat was the fact that apart from the wings, the creature was completely skinless. He could see every muscle cord, every organ in its belly. I oozed some sort of yellow, foul smelling liquid all over the floor. It had huge, white, lidless eyes with tiny black pupils that was fixed at the child in the crib. It stretched out its long, wiry arms towards the sleeping infant, and the movement had spurred Paul to act.

He leapt towards the skinless demon, and started hitting on it with the only thing he had that was able to do any harm; a thick, leather bound book about the difference between various werewolf races. He had been on his way to return it to the library before venturing in to the nursery.

The creature quickly lashed out towards Paul wit its long, brown, sharp looking claws, and it was pure luck that made it possible for him to escape without his throat being sliced. As it was, he got two, nasty looking gashes on the right side of his neck, and deep as they were, they weren't life-threatening.

When Paul flinched and backed half a step after being cut, the demon acted fast and leapt out the window and into the daylight. It flapped its wings, and when Paul got to the window frame and looked out, there was no sight of the thing. He covered his cut neck with his hand, turned and went to check on the baby. She slept on, completely unaware of the drama that just had transpired.

Buffy returned to the present and looked towards the window. It was almost dark out. Time to go on the hunt, but for the last week she had stayed inside, never venturing far from Heathers side. The incident had been the first time Buffy truly realised that Heather was in danger simply by being her daughter. She had always known that of course, from the moment she found out she was pregnant she knew that this child would be a target for every evil being out there. But it wasn't until the danger actually had ventured inside her own threshold that she really understood how close she was to losing her child simply by being who she was.

"Have you found out anything about the demon yet?" she asked, suddenly all business and with an edge to her tone that would have scared any evil creature that heard it to death. You didn't go after the Slayers family. If, no when, she got her hands on the demon in question there would be hell to pay. Possibly quite literally. There wouldn't be enough left of him to fit in a thimble.

Giles looked down on the desk and shuffled around a few papers. "No, not yet", he replied. "It seems to be a particularly unusual breed of demon. I can honestly say I haven't seen or heard of anything like it before. But we know that it didn't act alone. Unless it holds really potent magical powers of its own, there simply are no explanations as to how it could penetrate our magical wards. It must have had aid, possibly from a very powerful witch or warlock."

"I know that! You came to that conclusion almost right away! This is killing me Giles! My child is in danger, she is being targeted, and we have no way of knowing by who or what, or even why, other than the fact that she happens to be MY daughter!"

"But she Isn't only yours, is she? She is the child of two of the most powerful beings there is, and she was not even supposed to be able to exist! The offspring of a slayer and a master vampire..."

"I know that! He wasn't supposed to be able to father children, but he did. I know who Heathers father is, you know, as well as Xander, Willow and Dawn. But no one else Giles. There is no possibility that one of you have said anything, so why would she be targeted for being Spikes child when nobody knows about it? It has to be about me, and I hate it! I hate that I endanger the life of my baby simply by existing!"

"But by the off chance that somebody found out... Buffy, her blood must be extremely potent. It could possibly be used for a variety of different rituals or spells, and need I say that not one of them would have a positive outcome." When he saw her face fall, he quickly added; "I'm not saying that it's a fact that somebody found out her full parentage however, simply that it is a possibility. It could very well just be that she is targeted to hurt you."

"I know. I know." Buffy sighted. She turned towards Giles again. "I actually had another reason for coming here though."

"So you have made up your mind then?"

"Yeah, we can't stay here. Even with the new wards we can't be sure we're safe in this building. They know she's here, there was a demon in her room for Christ sake! We have to leave for a while. You said you knew where we could go."

"Yes, the council owns a number of safe houses around the world, quite a few in this country. I don't think it would be wise to leave Great Britain in case you would need quick assistance. I actually found a place not to far from London that seems adequate. We haven't heard of any demonic activity in the area for years."

"None at all? Wow, I'm impressed. Where is this place?"

"The Council owns a small cottage in a small village close to the city of Causton. It hasn't been used for many years, so we will need a few weeks to get everything ready for you. I have the papers right here."

She picked up the folder he had indicated and opened it. It contained various photographs of both the interior and exterior of the small, two storey cottage. There was also reports about the village, its inhabitants, previous demon activity, or in this case the lack thereof, and other good-to-know facts about the area in general. There was also papers about her, giving her and Heather new names and identities as well as a plausible cover about why a young American woman would suddenly move herself and her daughter to the middle of nowhere in rural England.

She read the papers and nodded in approval. She gave the folder back to Giles and gave him a small smile.

"So, looks like I'm moving to Midsomer Parva".

_**Present time**_

Buffy had settled in front of the TV, the baby monitor and the empty ice-cream container in front of her on the coffee-table. The wards Willow and the other witches the council employed had put on the cottage was nearly twice as strong as the ones originally put on the councils headquarters in London. Every precaution had been made, and yet she couldn't feel completely safe.

It was now almost nine o'clock in the evening, and apart from feeling uneasy and worried out of her mind, she was feeling extremely restless. She was an hands-on girl, she didn't do well with waiting. She wanted to go out there, find the bastard or bastards that dared threaten her child and kill hem. Slowly and painfully if possible.

She knew she couldn't do that though. All she could do for the moment was to sit tight and wait for Giles' research to produce some results. Until then she would stay in the village Midsomer Parva and wait.

So she waited.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Finally I managed to rewrite chapter two and post it. And within a week! Me sooo proud! :P You might have to wait for chapter 3 though. I'm going home for a funeral, and I don't know how much time I'll have for writing, but I'm hoping for the best and I'll try to post the next chapter before next wednesday. Until then, please leave a review. Thanks! Now, onwards and upwards. Enjoy.

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_She was standing on the front porch, staring out in the night and trying not to think. At all. She wished her brain had an on-off button. That would've been neat. If she could just turn off her head for a moment, she wouldn't have to think about all this stuff. She could just take a break from all the badness that currently was her life. _

_The fight was tomorrow. They were at war against the first evil. And that was just one of the things that was driving her insane at the moment. _

_The potentials were going to die. Hopefully not all of them, but she knew there would be losses. And there had already been too many burials._

_The betrayal came to mind. How her friends and her own sister had declared her incapable of leading them and run her out of the house. She had said that she was fine, and mostly she was already over it, but somewhere inside her it still hurt. _

_That was something she would have to deal with. Afterwards. Everything was put forwards in time, because she simply didn't have time to deal with it right now. "Later" was a word she had come to live by. _

_And then there were Spike. _

_The little cardboard box in the storage room of her mind labelled "Spike" also had a freakin' big red stamp on it reading LATER in capital letters. _

_She was so tired of that word. _

_This clearly wasn't working. All the effort she had put on not thinking had just led to the one thing she had tried to push to the back of her mind for the better part of two years. She didn't want to deal with this. Not now. All these thoughts and emotions swirling around inside of her was making her nacious. _

_He loved her. She knew he did. He'd come for her when all the others had turned their backs at her. He told her she was the one. That she was one hell of a woman. She wasn't doubting him. She never had. It was herself she didn't trust. _

_No. she wasn't going to think that way. Suddenly the fog in front of her eyes had cleared somewhat. The edge of her vision was still blurry, but she could see the larger picture._

_She was done with later!_

_With a sudden strike of confidence in herself that she hadn't felt in several years, she turned around and made her way back inside her house, down to the basement. He was sitting on the cot, studying the medallion Angel had given her, but as soon as she made her way down the steps he rose to meet her. _

_And that's when her confidence disappeared. _

_Damn! She'd had a whole speech prepared in her head. She was going to tell him how grateful she was. How much he meant for this fight, for their cause. How much he meant to her._

_How much she loved him._

_But as she looked him in the eyes, the words fled. She stared into those deep blue pools and just fell mute. She had never been good with words. So she acted instead. _

_She lifted her hand and stroked his cheek. Then she leaned forward until her lips was barely a breath away from his, and stopped. She wanted a sign, permission from him. She wanted to know that he wanted this to._

_He clearly did, as he took charge from there on. He kissed her softly, as if he thought she was going to break. His hand hung limply by his sides. He didn't touch her, but she could feel the shiver that ran trough him when their lips met. She started trembling._

_He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, but he didn't say a word. He was savouring the moment, afraid that if he said anything to acknowledge her presence or what just had occurred, she would simply disappear. He'd had this dream too many times before to really trust his senses. But when he felt her head shift and her lips started a soft trail of kisses from his cheekbone to the shell of his ear, and he felt her hands travelling down his abdomen and work their way under his shirt, his eyes snapped open. When he heard her soft whispered plea just by his ear, he seriously started to doubt his sanity. It wasn't what she said, but how she said it. Two simple words turned the world upside down for him, because she couldn't mean what he thought she meant. What he desperately wanted it to mean. Could it?_

"_Spike... please..."_

_Still afraid that this simply was a mirage, a play on his mind, he closed his eyes again and swallowed hard. When he opened them again he'd made a decision. There was a very real possibility that he would be gone by the day after tomorrow. He was almost convinced that he wouldn't make it out of this battle. If he only had this night left, then so be it. Carpe Diem and all that rot. Death, glory and sod all else, right?_

_He kissed her for real then, with all the pent up passion and frustration he'd felt since he'd come back from Africa. And she gave as good as she got. Stumbling towards the small cot they manage to get rid of their clothes, but as he laid her down on the mattress he started do doubt if this really was a good idea. Was he taking this too far? Was this something she would regret, or resent him for if they continued? _

_He studied her face for answers. What he saw there calmed hit fears, because in her eyes he saw no fear, sadness or doubt; only lust and something else his battered heart didn't dare to believe could be something more than the tentative friendship they had settled in since his chip had malfunctioned. She had initiated this. She wanted this as much as he did. He caved in. After all, he'd never been able to deny her anything. _

_Neither of them said another word that night. And by the next evening, she was in tears, and he was gone._

_Until 19 days later._

_***_

Spike heaved a huge sigh when he finally managed to locate the key to his motel room in the left pocket of his leather duster. He muttered obscenities under his breath when he fought a losing battle against the lock. It was really kind of tricky to operate the tiny little key and try to fit it into the key hole when he was slightly intoxicated..

Or more accurately sloshed out of his bloody mind.

His already very strained patience flew out of the proverbial window and he used his vampire strength to simply turn the doorknob until he heard the crack of the lock breaking. Let them bill him for the damage later, right now he really didn't care. It wasn't like he wouldn't sleep soundly enough without the security of a locked door anyway. If something was out to hurt him it was probably not going to bother with a locked door anyway. More likely to kick the door from its hinges or punch a hole through the wall.

He stumbled into the tiny room and kicked the door shut behind him. He managed to make it out of his shirt, leaving him in his jeans and boots and collapsed on top of the bed, not bothering to get under the covers. He could already feel the unwelcome arrival of his old enemy sobriety on the edge of his consciousness. He wished for a bottle of whiskey. Or possibly three, but dawn was quickly approaching and he had no time to locate a liquor store. He had only arrived in the area earlier that evening and didn't know his way around yet. Not that he was planning on sticking around long enough to memorize the bloody neighbourhood map.

He really could have done with that shanshu-thing right about now. If it wasn't for his sunlight issues he wouldn't have this bleeding problem!

He was only slightly consoled by the fact that the big brooder he called a grand-sire hadn't reaped the benefits of the prophecy either. He wondered why that was. He guessed that the last apocalypse he and Angel had survived wasn't _the big one,_ the one that the vampire with a soul would play a major part in. After all, the world hadn't ended this time either. Could it be that said vampire had to dust in order to claim the prize of humanity? He hadn't really given a thought to reincarnation, but it did make sense in a way. After his near descent into hell he would have preferred that option. Or maybe the vampire with a soul wasn't Angel or him, but had yet to make an appearance. Wouldn't that be a slap in the face of the great foreheaded one, he thought wryly.

He already knew that sleep wouldn't come easily. It never did these days. He wasn't nearly drunk enough to pass out, but he had hope anyway. He had been on the move for the last few weeks, and this was the first real bed he had slept in in five days. Maybe sheer exhaustion would do the job that alcohol couldn't tonight.

He stared up at the ceiling. He knew he couldn't go on like this. It had been six months since he left LA after the battle against the Black Thorn. He just upped and left, just shouting a quick 'goodbye' to Angel and Illyria as he stalked away. He'd jumped in to the nearest car he could hotwire and left the city limits as fast as he possibly could. The first month he'd toured the country, driving through every obscure hillbilly-town he could find, but staying clear of all larger cities. Then he'd abruptly changed his mind, stayed a few weeks in Chicago before feeling the nostalgic urge to visit his old haunts in New York. Ha stayed there for almost three months before leaving again, going back to touring the small communities and towns no self-respecting man would ever admit to even hearing about.

He had already decided it was time for a change of scenery. A change of continents. He felt he was in need of a new start. The only thing he had been concentrating on since he left New York was acquiring the money he needed to make the leap across the Atlantic back to Europe. And tonight, he finally had what he needed. Tomorrow night he would make his way to the nearest international airport. He planned on flying, but he wasn't quite sure how he would avoid the sunlight issue. Maybe pack himself in a crate and send himself of as cargo? If it didn't work he would have to resort to plan B and go by ship, but he'd rather not. It would take to long.

He didn't really know where to go yet. Europe was big! He could go anywhere from Reykjavik to Zagreb. He was leaning towards London though. He hadn't really been there since before the Boxer rebellion. He was pondering this as he was laying on his cheap motel bed. Finally he could feel his exhaustion overcoming him, and the last conscious thought in his head before sleep claimed him was that he at least knew where he wouldn't go;

He was staying the bloody hell away from Rome!

***

The next morning he cut his hair.

He ran his left hand through the really short brown fuzz covering his head. He couldn't remember the last time it had been that short. He guessed it never had.

He had felt the need to re-invent himself. It was high time anyway. It had been thirty years since the last time after all, and in the past he'd always tried to change his appearances every twenty years or so. But he knew he was going to miss the old look. The bleached blond bad-ass punk style had really been him. Or at least the him he had wanted to be at the time he'd adopted it.

He wouldn't do anything drastic. The haircut and a new jacket would have to do. He was way to attached to his tight jeans and boots to change them. And in his experience you could never go wrong with a black t-shirt.

He was going to miss the duster though. Even if the original had been blown to shreds in Rome.

And he was so not going to go there right now!

Shaking his head slightly to clear his mind from the gut-wrenching thoughts about his disastrous trip to Italy with the great poof, he turned around and took a quick look around the room. He didn't want to leave anything behind. He wasn't planning on coming back after all.

It felt odd leaving the states behind. He had spent a few good decades here after all. If he didn't count a few short trips to Europe with Dru, he really hadn't left the US of A since 1975. Thirty-odd years on the same continent. It was really high time to leave.

He left his room and made his way to the car, not bothering checking out. He had already paid for the room after all. At least now he knew where he wanted to go. London was waiting for him.

He was returning, like the prodigal son he wasn't...


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So sorry for the delay. I have had to attent two funerals in the last 3 weeks, so I have been a bit distracted. It's been hard, especially the last one. It's horrible when people are taken from us far to early. Anyway, here is chapter 3. Chapter 4 should be up within a week. No promises though. Again, sorry for the delay.

In this chapter, introducing the story's "Big Bad". If you're confused right now, don't worry. It will get even more confusing, just you wait!

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She had always been referred to as a woman, but technically that was the wrong pronoun. The correct word would have been "it", but that sounded like she was a thing, a non thinking, non feeling being, no more than a rock or a tree. Therefore she detested the word, and had always seen to that she was viewed as a person.

In reality, she had no gender. She was sexless. Her exquisite beauty and frail appearance had given her the feminine name centuries ago, but if she so wished she could easily appear as a male. She had inspired novels, poetry and great works of art, yet none knew her real name, or even what she really was. There had never been anything remotely like her, none knew from whence she came or where she was going. The word enigma was not even close enough to describe her.

She had toured all the royal courts in the known world at one point. She had wandered amongst emperors and kings, princes and counts, rulers of all kinds. She had always been in the background, adopting the role best suited for her purposes. She'd been the mistress, the priest, the servant or the counsellor. Always pulling the strings behind the main stage, shaping the world after her own whims and wishes. Forming alliances and shaping treaties, starting wars and achieving political chaos. Bloodshed had never been an obstacle when it came to reaching her goals. She would have had billions of deaths on her conscience, if she'd had one. She lived for one thing, and one thing only;

Power.

She had started revolutions and ended dynasties. She had built and erased empires! And now she was stuck here.

The room lay in almost total darkness. The only source of light came from a single, thick white candle placed on a simple ceramic platter on the floor in the south corner. The décor was Spartan, to say the least. The only furniture was a simple chair and a small wooden table, and the only thing that hinted of former days of grandeur and luxury was the now faded, but beautiful and in its days clearly expensive tapestries on the walls, and the thick, deep red velvet curtains that covered the windows and went all the way from ceiling to floor. They saw to that none of the light from the afternoon sun found its way into the room.

The light hurt her eyes.

She was sitting on the chair by the table, staring into space with unfocused eyes and with a small smile playing at her lips. She could feel it. Almost a century of isolation and captivity had come to an end. Three more months, and then she would be free again. She would reclaim what was rightfully hers, and regain the power that had been lost to her. That had been stolen from her.

The men that had put her in this place were long since dead, but no matter. She would have revenge. Individual payback was not enough anyway. Their descendants would pay for her imprisonment. They would pay, along with the rest of the world.

She just needed the child.

***

"Home, sweet home."

It didn't really register exactly what he'd said at first. It seemed like the thing to say after stepping onto British soil for the first time in nearly half a century. It didn't occur to him that the last time he'd said that he'd been mowing down the "welcome to Sunnydale" sign- not until after a few seconds. The sinking feeling in his gut suddenly reminded him of things he'd tried his hardest to put behind him and forget about for the last few months.

Tried to forget since Rome.

Since he'd emerged from the amulet and appeared as a ghost in Angels office at Wolfram and Hart's headquarters in LA, he'd held on to a flickering flame of hope deep in his chest that he somehow would find his way back to Buffy. That she'd really meant what she'd said the seconds before he combusted in the hell mouth. That she really loved him, even if it was only a fraction of how much he loved her. And he had tried to find his way back to her almost instantly after he had regained a corporeal body, but his doubt had won over the hope.

He had told himself that it would "diminish his sacrifice" if he was to show up on her doorstep after dying to save the world. He couldn't have faced her disappointment. And that was part of his reasons not to go after her, sure, but for the most part he'd been scared. Afraid that she didn't mean it. What if he had been right when he said; "No you don't, but thanks for saying it"? That she just said it to placate a dying man and grant him his final wish? Or worst still, if she really had meant it, but in the same way that he loved all her friends. If she had put him in the same category as the whelp. That would have really destroyed him.

But then there was the night before the battle. Thinking about that left him more confused, and he had no idea what to believe anymore. He would torture himself with the bitter-sweet memory of her in his arms, when they'd been together in a way that they hadn't been since she had ended things with him the year before. He would ponder what her motives had been. Had she only come for cold comfort the night before the battle that she knew could cost her her life for the third time? Had she used him to forget? Deep inside he still felt like he'd felt back then, like he had missed something monumental about that night, that somehow there had been a deeper meaning behind her actions. Perhaps she had not come simply for comfort or confirmation, but really just to be with him? To spend what could very well have been her final night on earth with him, because she cared for him, wanted to be with him?

Because she loved him?

He stopped his thoughts right there. That was dangerous territory, a virtual no man's land in his mind, riddled with mines, barbed wire and booby-traps. One wrong step and he could end up crippled, be it from grief or false hope. Hope was a dangerous thing, he knew that. Nine times out of ten it led to bitter disappointment, at least in his experience. That was why he, after buying a boat ticket and was set to go to Europe to find her, had stopped himself. He couldn't risk it. Couldn't risk looking into her eyes and not find what he wanted most in the entire world. Couldn't risk finding out that he had been right.

He had told himself that if she really meant what she had said, and if she found out that he was alive, (or at least undead again), she would find him. Let her run after him for a change. Would make a nice change of pace. It never even crossed his mind that she wouldn't find out, especially not after Andrews visit. Sure, he'd sworn not to tell a soul, but the day when he truly trusted the wonder boy would never, ever come, he was sure of that.

Then he had gone to Rome. Wasn't that the biggest bloody mistake of the century? The last of his already very weak hope had died in Italy. She had clearly moved on. Forgotten all about him probably. Perhaps that was just as well. He just wanted her to be happy, after all.

And yet, he'd had to physically restrain himself from tearing the sodding wankers head off, cut his body into little pieces and set them on fire, just to see exactly how bloody immortal he really was. "Cuddling on the couch" indeed! That he had managed not to sock Andrew a good one straight in the face was a small miracle in itself. He had returned to LA bitter and hurt, and desperately determined to do as she had done; forget and put it all behind him.

Piece of cake.

Right...

He really, really hoped that a change of scenery would make it easier on him. He had no memory of her that connected her to Great Britain. He would create new memories here. The first small step into the London night was the proverbial first step to the rest of his life. He would turn over a new leaf, write a new chapter and a dozen other stupid clichés. He had made himself a promise, and he intended to keep it. Never again would his thoughts be consumed by a blonde firecracker with a Californian accent and a nasty habit of braking both his nose and his heart. There were no reminders here.

That was what he told himself while he was making his way out of the labyrinth that was London Heathrow. He pushed through the masses of people, not caring about the angry remarks shouted after him. Until he collided with a body that refused to move out of the way. He looked down, and found himself staring into a set of brown eyes that looked disturbingly familiar.

***

Rona just stood there and stared. On the other side of the crowded room she could clearly see something impossible. A person she knew without a trace of a doubt not to exist any more shoved his way through the masses of people with a distracted look on his face. His buzz cut hair was clearly light brown and not platinum blonde, and the long leather duster she had come to associate with him was replaced with a shorter black jacket. Still leather, but there ended the similarities.

Her first thought had been that the First Evil was back. She was already thinking about the panicked phone call she would have to make to mister Giles when her mind registered that the apparition didn't go straight through any of the people he came in contact with, but instead pushed them rather roughly aside. His progress through the room was accompanied with irritated shouts and scowling faces. He was clearly not incorporeal.

Her second thought was that this was someone's idea of a vicious joke. The powers though that they hadn't messed with the slayers lives enough already? To make it seemed like the person they all owed their lives to was back was nothing but cruel when she knew that he was nothing more than dust in the Californian desert.

Then he suddenly was right in front of her, and before her muddled mind made her react, they collided. She woke up from her stupor and firmly planted her feet to the ground, determined to thoroughly examine this impostor! She looked up in his face and stared into his crystal blue orbs. Eyes she had seen before. A face that she knew was gone forever stared back at her, identical to the one she knew to be gone, right down to the scar over one eyebrow. Her eyes went impossibly wide and she just stared at him. Then suddenly she found her voice, and she squealed high enough to shatter glass.

"Oh my God! Spike??!"

***

Brown eyes that he recognised. Black dreadlocks he'd defiantly seen before. A slayer. And not any slayer either, a slayer from the last stand. A slayer he recognised from Sunnydale.

Yeah, right. No reminders. Writing a new chapter, starting over and forgetting.

He could see all his goals fly out the proverbial window, and all he could do was utter a string of colourful curses that ended with;

"Oh no! Please no!"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So, finally I managed to rewrite chapter 4. Whew, that was not easy, but its done! Go me! Now I can start concentrating on the brand new chapters instead of obsessing about the already finished ones that dissappeared whem my old computer went kaplooey... Stay tuned for chapter 5, as always I'll try to update within a week. Or more likely ten days. Hope you're still with me! Thanks.

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"Oh no! Please no!"

Oh crap! This was just bloody brilliant. To literally bump into one of the mini-slayers from the Hellmouth minutes after getting out of the plane was just... Fuckin' hell!

After the chock had receded somewhat, he started berating himself. He clearly hadn't thought this trip through at all! He should have known this could have happened, London was bloody watcher central! He had been so focused one forgetting the one slayer he couldn't get out of his mind that he had ended up overlooking the fact that there now was hundreds of them scattered around the world, and a few of them could identify him by sight. And _of course_ one or more of the ones that had been in the fight against the first would be stationed in Great Britain. Aside from Faith and... the one whose name still was difficult to think about... the few potentials that had arrived at Revello Drive the year before and had survived the battle must have the most fighting experience of the new slayers.

A look at Rona told him that she was still suffering from her own chock. She just stood there, right in front of him, staring into his face with huge eyes and her mouth slightly open. Clearly she must have thought him dead. Did she know of his return and thought he'd died in the battle in LA, or had she thought he was nothing more than a pile of dust in the bottom of the crater that had once been Sunnydale? Had Andrew really managed to keep his promise and not told the slayers about his return?

Not bloody likely.

Right now, he didn't think it mattered. He still wasn't ready to take that particular bull by the horns. One way or the other, this was going to come back to Buffy, and he would rather shower in holy water than see her face to face right now.

Taking advantage of Ronas frozen state, he quickly turned right around on his heel and disappeared amongst the masses of people as fast as his enhanced speed allowed him to. He didn't even hear her shouting after him, intent on putting as much distance between them as possible.

***

"Hey! Stop!"

One moment he had been standing right in front of her, and in the next he'd disappeared! At first she'd been convinced that she had gone completely of the bend, and was hallucinating, but the increase of indignant shouts and yelling got her to notice his retreating back as he ran away from her, and she added her own shouts as she took up the pursuit. She quickly lost him though, and she came to an halt in front of the baggage claim.

She quickly came to the conclusion that there was no point in trying to find him on her own. They had wicked powerful witches at their disposal, and a locator spell could probably be arranged within thirty minutes. There was no doubt in her mind on who she had just seen, and if nothing else his escape and excessive swearing had clearly told her that he recognised her to.

Fishing up her mobile phone, she quickly pushed speed-dial for mister Giles.

***

Buffy woke up the next morning feeling unusually well rested. Heather had almost slept through the entire night, only waking once at three fifteen in the morning demanding her mothers attention. It had taken her twenty five minutes to calm down enough to put to bed again, but after that she had slept soundly. Since she had been put to bed a lot earlier than usual, Buffy was surprised that she had slept as long as she had. She put it down to the journey the day before. Heather hadn't left London since she was born, she wasn't used to travelling.

She checked the time and was surprised that it was only half past six. Usually when she woke this early it felt like her head had had a close encounter with a sledgehammer, but today she sat straight up in bed as soon as she woke, feeling as if she'd drunk ten cups of black coffee and was on an energy high.

She made her way to the nursery to check on Heather, relieved to see that she still was in deep slumber. She should be waking up soon though, she had slept for nearly ten hours straight.

Buffy looked out through the window, making a note of the cloudless sky and the bright sun. it looked like it would be a fantastic day. Maybe she could take Heather out, explore their surroundings a bit? Or she could stay at home today, and try to do something about the garden. She wondered if she had inherited her mothers green fingers. Anyway, it couldn't be to hard, could it? It wasn't exactly rocket science. The least she could do was to cut the grass and try to sort out the jungle of weeds that covered the flowerbeds.

Yeah, that sounded like a plan. She would have a day in, do a bit of gardening and spend some quality time with her daughter. It would be nice to have her to herself without being crowded by all her "aunts", as the junior slayers had proclaimed themselves.

Satisfied, and with her mind made up on how she would spend her day, she made her way into the kitchen in search for breakfast. She could get used to this kind of living. This was... nice. Tranquil. She had been wishing for peace and quiet almost since the day she was called. This was what she wanted. Really, it was.

Nope, she wouldn't get bored at all. Or restless. This was really... neat. Great even.

No, not getting restless. Or bored. At all.

She sighted, realising that she had been out of bed for almost ten minutes, and was already trying to convince herself of something she really knew was not even remotely true.

Not getting restless. Nope, not at all restless. Look at me, all calm and ready for some ordinary, perfectly normal gardening.

Yeah, right.

***

Giles was staring at the phone in his hand. He was contemplating whether one of his senior slayers either was pulling an elaborate prank on him, or if she simply had gone completely insane.

She claimed to have been face to face to William the Bloody. At London Heathrow.

She claimed Spike was back.

Apparently, while waiting for a plane from Italy to act as the welcome wagon to Andrew and Dawn, she had literary walked right in to her, only to start cursing violently and quickly running in the other direction. She was adamant that he had recognised her, and that he clearly didn't want a confrontation.

Had it been one of the slayers that hadn't been present in the last days of Sunnydale making these claims, he would have dismissed it right away, but this was a girl that had spent a long time living in close quarters with the vampire in question. The newer slayers all got the full scoop about the "champion" that had saved them from the First right from the beginning, Buffy saw to that, and had it been a new girl that had claimed to have witnessed the resurrection of Spike, he would have called it wistful thinking and adolescent hero worship. It was quite clear that many of the newer girls was starstruck by the now legendary vampire.

Two things made him doubt though. One was the fact that it was Rona who had made the call, and he knew her to be a down to earth, no-nonsense kind of girl, and not at all likely to make up stories.

The other fact that had him in doubt was the description she had given of him. Apparently, gone was the shockingly white-blond hair and long duster, instead replaced by light brown hair in a really short buzz-cut and a shorter jacket. Had it been a fiction of her imagination or a blatant lie, surely she would have described him as she remembered him from Sunnydale? She had said that the only reason she was so sure of exactly who she had seen was the fact that their faces had been only inches apart , and she could clearly see the blue eyes and the scarred eyebrow she remembered vividly. That coupled with his reaction to her when she called him by his name and his quick escape had her utterly convinced that what she had seen was no other than William the Bloody himself.

Giles sighted when he noticed that he yet again had started cleaning his glasses. He shook his head and realised that he couldn't ignore this, no matter how much he wanted to. He wouldn't say anything to Buffy yet of course. It wouldn't do to get her hopes up and then completely shatter her when it became clear that this was nothing but an elaborate hoax.

And even if this really was the resurrected Spike, it wasn't clear exactly what incarnation of him that was walking the streets of London. There was always the chance that this was soulless, evil Spike they had to deal with, not caring that he'd once loved Buffy and intent on killing his third slayer. Maybe he was even seeking revenge against them for all the wrongs that had been done to him in Sunnydale.

Or maybe that was just his own guilty conscience talking.

No, Buffy wouldn't be told about the possible return of the father of her child, at least not yet. It was for her own good. But he would have to look into the matter. Rona had suggested a locator spell, and he had to admit that was a good idea. He picked up the phone again, intent on calling in the most powerful witch he had in his arsenal. Willow would have to handle this herself.

***

Stupid, stupid Buffy!

After an hour of unsuccessful attempts at sorting out the weeds from the plants meant to be preserved, she gave up. She clearly had no idea what she was doing. In the end the flowerbeds had almost been completely bare, since she barely could tell the difference between dandelions and pot marigolds, never mind the strange plants she had encountered in this garden. In the end, every plant not currently blossoming was discarded. She didn't care any more, she could buy new ones. Despite, it wasn't even her cottage, or her garden. Let the council worry about it.

Guh! She was bored to tears! Gardening clearly wasn't her thing. She had meant to cut the grass, but after spending an hour on her knees in the dirt, she didn't feel like doing anything other than curl up in front of the television. She had absolutely no stamina at all in this department.

She had new respect for her mother though. The woman had done this voluntarily and had actually seemed to enjoy it. That, she couldn't fathom. Clearly Joyce had been a stronger woman than Buffy in some ways, at least when it came down to patience. And so what? She already knew that patience wasn't one of her strong suits. No newsflash there.

She looked over to her daughter in the bouncy chair less than two feet away from her. She had placed her in the shade of an overgrown bush, and had turned her head to check on her every thirty seconds. She was currently happily entertained by chewing on one of her stuffed animals, and was uttering quiet gurgling noises.

Sighing and wiping her hands on her trousers, Buffy made a decision. She picked Heather and the chair up and made her way into her house, intent on quickly changing her clothes and head into the village. Surely she could find something the council had neglected to supply her with that she needed to buy? Grocery shopping would give her a reason for leaving the house.

She sighted again, realising that after a one single day of tranquil existence in an adorable English cottage in an idyllic environment she was ready to climb the walls. Her little speech to herself bout not being bored or restless clearly hadn't helped. Not even she listened to her.

Yeah, not restless at all. Brilliant.

Exasperated with herself, she decided that the pantry was in dire need of flour, despite the fact that she had an entire unopened bag in there, and after quickly shedding her gardening outfit and putting on a simple pale yellow summer dress, she and Heather headed out to explore the village that would be their home for the foreseeable future.

And to buy flour, of course.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This is where the time line gets all screwed up. I know, I know, and I am truly sorry! Post NFA lands us somewhere between 2004-2005, but the episode "Shot at dawn" of MM that I refer to in this chapter didn't happen until 2008. I know this gives us a time gap of three to four years. And I am just insane enough to happily ignore this. The reasons for my disrespectful attitude towards the time line in both series are many, and I won't discuss them here, because frankly, I would probably need an entire page. Sorry! If you would just move the events of BtVS and Angel forward a few years, all in favour of fan fiction creativity. Pretty please? Consider yourselves warned, but feel free to complain anyway. At least now you know.

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She still had it in her, the ability to manipulate people into doing exactly what she needed them to do to fit her own purpose while at the same time managing to convince them that the whole thing had been their own idea. To get the slayer to move from London to the rural English countryside had taken time and power, but had in the end gone a lot smoother than she had originally thought. None of the slayers or watchers had suspected they had been steered by something else other than their own minds, and had simply surrendered to her will. No one had challenged her much.

It was almost a little disappointing.

It had really been quite simple. To convince the idiot watcher that he had seen a skinless demon try to abduct the slayers child had taken enough power to leave her weak and vulnerable for two weeks afterwards, but she had managed to plant the image in his head and convinced him that the deep cut on his neck she had made him inflict upon himself had come from the creatures claws. It had been draining, but not at all difficult. She still had some power left, if only a fraction of what she once had.

She could feel her power slowly but steadily return to her. Only a few weeks left, and after that she could venture outside for the first time in a century. Even for an ancient being as herself, a hundred years had not passed quickly, and the crippling feeling of not being strong enough to even lift her own hands had almost been unbearable. Only the thought of finally escaping to take revenge upon the world that had betrayed her had kept her sane, and now, finally, the time had come.

The child was born and was hers for the taking, and with the power she would gain she would wreak havoc and destruction upon this poor, unsuspecting planet.

Time to take this game up to the next level. If she had been able, she would have clapped her hands in glee. This was the really fun part.

The really fun, bloody part.

***

The 90 year old feud between the Hicks's and the Hammonds had finally ended with the death of Lionel Hicks, only three months after he had confessed to murdering a big portion of Midsummer Parva's population due to the in his mind unjust execution of his father for deserting during the first world war. The younger generations felt that there really was no further need of animosity and hatred any more, and with the upcoming wedding between Sophie Hammond and Will Hicks they had silently agreed to settling on cold indifference, at least on the surface.

Whispers about "the sodding Hammonds" and "the bloody Hicks's" had been rendered down to a few drunken mutterings in the pub on dark, dreary evenings when there was nothing else worth discussing, and even then it was only reminiscing. Nothing new had happened since the vendetta between the families had been put on ice, and Midsomer Parva was getting restless. Would they have to import their gossip from other villages in the parish?

So it was with great enthusiasm and with abnormal speed the rumour about the new addition to the small community was spread. Apparently the empty cottage just south of the village was to be inhabited permanently, after having been used as a summer getaway for some rich family normally residing in London, but no one could remember ever seeing a living soul there. Nevertheless the house had always been kept in a habitable condition, even though the garden had been somewhat neglected. It had been empty now for many years, even in the summertime. Apparently the owners had sold the cottage, or at least rented it out.

The small house had been partly renovated and refurbished, and only contractors from out of town had been used, causing a wave of indignant huffs and mutterings amongst the populace. Did they not trust the local workers to do a proper job?

Despite the fact that the rumour mill had not been still since the first unknown car had been spotted on the small dirt road leading to the cottage, no one seemed to know for sure exactly who or whom would be moving in. There had been talk of an elderly gentleman moving to the quiet village to finish a book, others claimed it was a young newly-wed couple, and some had heard that the new occupant was a young single woman related to the owners in London moving to the area to get inspiration for her artwork.

When the renovation was done, half of the community held their breath in anticipation of the new arrival. The first day there had been no sighting of anyone unknown in the area, but that was to be expected. The new people should be undisturbed their first day in their new home, and was therefore left alone without imposing neighbours with welcoming baskets and home made casseroles and puddings. There had been a silent agreement in the village to wait at least two days before trying to still their collective curiosity.

They didn't need to wait even that long, however. Already on the day after the moving in, the new occupants were spotted on the road on their way from the cottage. A young, blonde woman with a small child, not even a year old, strapped to her back was passed by Mrs Nelly Clarke in her red Citroën round about noon, and before Buffy even had spotted the first house in the outskirts of the village about a third of the villagers (mostly the female ones) knew that their new neighbour was arriving, and almost all of them suddenly remembered that they had a lot of errands to run that required them to leave their homes and venture out to the small shops near the town centre.

When Buffy and Heather so finally entered the square in the middle of the village, there was a mass of people milling around, seemingly without purpose or reason. Right away Buffy noticed the not so discreet glances and outright stares pointed towards her, and was immediately poised to flee if a dangerous situation would occur. Paranoid maybe, but she was not comfortable being the centre of attention when she didn't know exactly why. Alert to any danger in the immediate vicinity, despite the fact that it was in the middle of the day and a scorching sun was shining from a completely cloudless sky, she quickly located the local grocery shop and ventured inside.

However, no amount of vigilance could have prepared her for what she would encounter behind those innocent looking sliding glass doors.

***

Walking quickly down the road, she cursed her stupidity in forgoing her bike in favour of a "nice walk in the sunshine". She also cursed her own restlessness and inability to stay at home and just take it easy for One. Single. Day! She just had to get out of the house, didn't she?

She had faced vampires, giant snake demons, demon-human hybrid cyborgs and the source of all evil, but nothing in her colourful slaying career could have prepared her for the horrors of a community starved of gossip. As soon as she had stepped inside the grocery store, they had pounced on her. Her new, well meaning neighbours.

All pleasant and polite, but even so ruthless with questions disguised as helpful concern, and determined to pry as much information from her about herself and her reason for moving to Midsomer Parva as possible. And it all had escalated when she opened her mouth and outed herself as an American. The false identity and background provided by the council was now out in the open, and her new neighbours now knew her as Anne Sinclair, a single mother from California with English grandparents who recently left her with a if not big, then at least a very respectable inheritance, and she had relocated to the countryside because of her job as a freelance photographer, looking for inspiration.

At least Heather had behaved perfectly, not uttering a single word of complaint at being crowded by a hoard of strange, unknown people who had fawned and cooed over her. She had just looked around with huge eyes and a fascinated expression on her face, much to the annoyance of Buffy who would have welcomed the excuse of an uncomfortable child to leave.

In the end she had managed to escape without being too impolite, managed to buy the wretched bag of flour she really didn't need anyway, and was now hurrying home as quickly as she could. When she could finally see the rooftop of the cottage at the end of the road, she hastened her step even more.

That's when she heard the scream.

***

Miss Sarah Garrison had not been in the village when the news that the new inhabitants of the neighbourhood had been spotted by Mrs. Clarke, and did therefore not know that Buffy and Heather wasn't at home when she decided to drive out to the cottage with a basket full of her freshly home baked walnut scones and her prizewinning home-made strawberry and rhubarb jam.

Living at the north end of the village, it had taken her about ten minutes to drive her barely functional ancient car to her destination, and had parked just outside the gate to the garden. Stepping out of the car with the basket firmly grasped in her hand, she felt rather pleased with herself. She would be the first one to meet and greet the mysterious new residents. As far as she knew, anyway.

It turned out she was wrong. She literally stumbled on someone who appeared to have beaten her to it. A young man she didn't recognise was laying across the gravel path to the front door. Granted, it would have been difficult for her to recognise him anyway, without a head on his shoulders.

She dropped the basket and screamed.

***

It was really embarrassing. It had taken the wankers less than an hour to find him and bring him in to headquarters, no doubt by the help of magic. No less than four slayers had cornered him in the pub he had taken refuge in, and no one he recognised. They had barely said a word to him, just calmly asked him if he could come with them with as little fuss as possible. When he had bolted for the back door he had run into four more of them. They were like ants on a picknick, they were everywhere!

They had sent eight slayers after him. Spike couldn't help but feel a little bit proud. They knew he wouldn't be easy to catch and had sent some serious manpower to get him. He almost felt like the Big Bad again.

Sure, he was a little bit proud, but mostly he was just annoyed with himself. Less than seventy minutes after getting off the sodding plane he was in the hands of the council of watchers. Caught like a fly in the spiders web. He had hoped to hold out at least for a couple of days, but of course not. Why would anything go his way in this world, ever? Seemed like he was destined to bloody fail at everything he put his mind to.

Now he sat here, bound to a chair in a room full of books, being watched by two slayers that refused to talk to him no matter how much he tried to goad and annoy them to at least snark at him.

It was extremely boring.

The door finally opened, and someone he had hoped never to see again entered. Giles stared at him with an unreadable look on his face. Spike couldn't decide whether he was relieved or disappointed that he was alone. Somewhere deep inside him he had actually wanted it to be Buffy on the other side of the table, just to see her again. In stead he got the man who had tried to end his existence not long before he had saved the world. He smirked at that thought. That was an opportunity for gloating he didn't plan to pass up.

They stared at each other for a few moments across the table. Neither said a word. It took about two minutes until Giles relaxed fractionally and dismissed the girls. Now they were alone in the room, and Giles finally spoke to him, and actually managed to surprise him with his words.

"Tell me exactly the events that led you to be sitting across from this table, and not being dust at the bottom of the Sunnydale crater."

Spike looked at him incredulously. Huh! Andrew actually hadn't snitched on him! That, he didn't see coming.

"You really didn't know I was back watcher?". He couldn't help the smirk on his face. It seemed like the almighty watchers council wasn't as allknowing as they would like to be.

An annoyed frown settled on Giles brows. "Would I ask if I knew?" He really hadn't missed the vampires attitude.

"So the wonder boy actually kept his mouth shut! Ha! Who would've thought it?"

Giles frown deepened and he looked puzzled. "The wonder boy? Someone knew you were back? Who?"

Spike sighed and looked out the window. He decided that the quickest and easiest way of getting out of there and to get on with his existence as far away from watchers and slayers as possible was to tell the entire story. He turned back to Giles and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Fine watcher. I'll tell you the tale. But I want no interruptions until I'm finished. No questions or comments at all. Is that clear?"

The head of the watchers council looked in the eyes of the vampire who not three hours earlier had been dust in the wind as far as he knew. Not breaking eye contact he uttered just one word.

"Agreed."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Ha! Finally I arrived at the real crossover. I've never written MM before, and I don't know how I feel about the end result. At least I managed to update fairly quickly. I was rather in a hurry to write this, so I apologize for any typos or spelling mistakes you might find.

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"It always amazes me, Tom, how you manage to find the most dastardly crimes in the most idyllic of places." George Bullard shook his head resignedly while addressing the DCI who was waiting patiently behind him.

"Dastardly, George? What have you been reading lately?" Tom Barnaby shook his head slightly said with a small smile. "I would have thought that word wasn't even in the dictionary any more".

"Just comes to show that I am more eloquent than you", the pathologist smirked. "You don't have any questions about the body then?"

"Well, the cause of death seems fairly obvious to me, if you don't think that the decapitation was done post mortem."

"No, it seems that the beheading indeed was the cause of death." The pathologist sighed softly. "Of course, I'll have to do a full autopsy, complete with toxicology testing. It never pays assume."

"Not when it comes to deaths in these parts. And to think that it wasn't even a year ago I had to conduct a murder investigation in this village the last time." He had been standing slightly hunched over with his hands on his thighs, studying Ballard as he did a quick first examination of the body, but now he stood up and straightened his back. "Any luck finding any identification? No wallet or anything on him?".

"No, not that I could find. Seems you have a John Doe on your hands this time."

"And with no luck finding the head, identifying him is going to be hard if his fingerprints or DNA doesn't show up in any of our registers". The DCI rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Sometimes it feels like someone is conspiring to do my job all that more difficult for me."

"That would probably be the murderer, Tom. Unfortunately the first objective of someone committing a crime is seldom to help the police with their enquiries", Ballard smirked.

"Pity that. It would certainly save us a lot of time and tax money". Sargent Ben Jones had caught the last two sentences of their conversation as he made his way towards them. "I am sorry I'm late, but I had a bit of car trouble." That was more or less true. He had spent twenty minutes looking for the car keys. "What do we have here then?"

"Decapitated body left practically on the doorstep, the head is nowhere to be seen. He was killed somewhere else, there is no blood to speak of here. Was dumped here less than an hour before it was found, since it wasn't here when the house's occupants left". Bullard quickly and efficiently brought him up to speed.

"Now that you managed to get here, Jones, why don't you go and talk to the lady who lives here". It was quite clear to the sergeant that his boss was not amused by his tardiness, and that he probably was a bit suspicious about the nature of his "car troubles" as well. "I believe that it is the young woman over there, talking to constable Trent". Barnaby pointed towards a petite blonde woman talking animately with one of the uniformed policemen. Jones had to shake his head slightly and look again. It had been a long time since he had seen such an attractive woman! Barnaby noted his reaction with an amused smile.

"Yes, right. I'll go do that. She's the one who found the body then?" Jones quickly looked back at his boss, taking on a strictly professional air.

"No, it wasn't. Miss Garrison over there found the body. Apparently she had been coming around to pay a visit, and literately stumbled over him." Barnaby pointed towards a woman in her late fifties with rather garishly dyed carrot red hair. "I'll go talk to her now when she's calmed down a bit. And now that you have arrived of course". He gave Jones a pointed look that the sergeant interpreted as 'Now that I don't have to wait for you to show up I can finally start doing my job'. Never the less, he almost felt like he'd been given a reward for something, since he'd been told to interview the pretty young blonde rather than the older lady. He quickly started towards the young woman before the DCI could change his mind.

Barnaby smirked at Jones back when the young policeman made his was towards the woman who lived in the cottage. He had observed her talking to constable Trent. 'Talking at', rather than 'Talking to', he thought wryly. Perhaps dealing with the clearly agitated blonde spitfire would teach his sergeant not to be late to a crime scene in the future.

***

Buffy was beyond pissed at this point. She was not allowed to go inside the house, and the police had politely asked her to refrain from making any phone calls until someone had talked to her, which she thought was ridiculous since someone actually was talking to her by telling her not to use her mobile. Apparently it wasn't the right someone.

She had been ranting at a poor policeman for almost fifteen minutes straight, and while somewhere inside her she knew that the poor man was only trying to do his job she was beyond caring at this point. The constable had barely managed to put in five words during the entire conversation, and when Jones tapped sightly on his shoulder and told him that he would take it from here, he looked at the sergeant like a drowning man who'd just been offered a lifeline.

When Ben stood face to face with Buffy, he noted her facial expression. The look she gave him clearly stated his ears would soon be bleeding.

Ah. Not a reward then.

He really should learn to take better care of his car keys.

***

_Same time, at the Watcher Council headquarters, London._

When Spike had finished the tale of his unlike post Sunnydale, he fell quiet and studied Giles for any reactions. He had made a point of not looking directly at the watcher during the story. He had carefully edited some of the events, particularly events that could lead to questions about his decision not to tell about his return to this world. The trip to Rome he skipped almost entirely, only saying that he'd followed Angel there on a mission and that he'd run into Andrew, again. That still amazed him, that the little rodent actually had kept his yap shut about his return. And if he'd told Buffy, she clearly hadn't thought it fit to inform Giles or the junior slayers about it, and he didn't find that scenario likely.

Giles shook himself out of his shocked facial expression when he noticed Spikes quiet scrutiny of him. He couldn't fathom that the bleached pest (although he seemed to had to abandoned the peroxide look for the time being al least), had been back in this world a little over a year, living in LA with Angel of all people!

"I... Well..." He cleared his throat and started over, unconsciously reaching for his glasses and started polishing them, much to Spikes amusement. "I have been in contact with Angel and his people several times during the last year, and not once did anyone mention anything to indicate that you had returned to the land of the living. Or undead, as it where. Why is that, exactly?"

spikes face fell and his expression darkened when he thought about the watchers refusal to help save Fred. They had asked for help in a time of dire need, and had been refused it. It had been their only hope, and it had been crushed mercilessly. But before he could begin to vent his feelings about that, Giles spoke again, efficiently shutting him up.

"I have a hard time understanding why you wouldn't come looking for Buffy directly after you had regained your corporeal body. As I understood it, your... affection towards each other at the end of the days in Sunnydale grew quite a bit. You have claimed to love her for several years. Surely those feeling didn't just evaporate at the time you emerged from the medallion? Did you find another love interest in Los Angeles, perhaps?"

At first Spike just stared at him, clearly not really believing what he had just heard. It lasted for about ten seconds, then he exploded.

"Are you completely daft?!? 'Found another love interest...'. Of course I didn't just went out and found myself another bird, you bleedin' idiot!" If he hadn't been bound to the chair he would have been pacing the length of the room at this point.

He closed his eyes, shook his head hard and visibly tried to calm himself down. When he felt like he had found some semblance of control of his temper, he started talking again, the calmness of his tone in stark contrast to the tension in his tightly wound body.

"The reason I didn't go gallivanting after the slayer the firs chance I got is between me and her. 's none of our bloody business. And unless she's standing behind that door right now, waiting to interrogate me herself, you ain't gonna find out any time soon, because the second you seem fit to let me go, I'll be on my merry way, hopefully as far away from slayers and watchers as I can get".

Giles looked at him again. He felt like missed an important piece of the puzzle somewhere. Something must have happened that the vampire across the table hadn't told him about.

A sudden thought struck him. If Spike had heard of Buffy's pregnancy, and hadn't done the maths, the chances were that he thought she had moved on to another man directly after the collapse of Sunnydale. After all, Spike knew he couldn't have any children. On the other hand, if he didn't know about Buffy's daughter, that was another deal entirely. Giles was in noway prepared, nor willing to be the one who would inform the vampire that he was Heathers biological father. Right now, he actually wasn't convinced that he should ever know.

Still, he had to know how much spike had heard of his child, if anything.

"Spike... do you know who Heather is?" Giles asked resignedly. He really didn't want to ask this question, but he knew he had to.

Spike was puzzled at the sudden change of topic, and it showed on his face. That was really all the answer Giles needed, but he waited for him to speak anyway.

"Never heard of a bird named Heather. Why? 's she one of the new slayers? Should I know her?"

"No, I guess you don't. It's not important right now anyway." Giles felt terribly relieved. He didn't have to open this particular can of worms just yet. But it was still possible that Spike knew that Buffy had a child, but hadn't heard the name. He braced himself to ask another question.

"Have you heard anything about Buffy this past year? Anything that would discourage you from coming after her?"

Spikes expression darkened again. "If you're trying to break the news about the blood Immortal, don't bother. I got hat memo, loud and clear". He quickly looked away so Giles wouldn't see the hurt in his eyes, but he needn't have bothered. As soon as he'd mentioned the Immortal, Giles had zoned out.

It seemed like Spike thought Buffy was in Rome. He had been fooled by the decoy, the fake Buffy Anne Summers living with Dawn and Andrew in Italy. Yes, ha had said he went there with Angel, hadn't he. He clearly had believed that Buffy had taken up with the Immortal. Giles was actually surprised by this. He had thought that if anyone would have been able to see through the disguise and glamour of the slayer in Rome, it would have been Spike.

Before he could question the vampire further, there was a timid knock on the door, and a young gir poked her head in.

"Mister Giles, there is a phone call for you".

"I am rather busy at the moment Clara. Have someone else take it".

"Sorry Mister Giles, they said they would only talk to you."

Giles sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Who is it, Clara."

"It's the police. They said something about a death. Mister Giles, I think it had something to do with Buffy."

Giles paled and stood up so fast that the chair he'd sat on fell over. Spike whipped his head around to stare at the girl behind the door. Cold dread seized him, and it felt like a hand of ice had grabbed a hold of his heart.

The police had called about a death. The girl had mentioned Buffy.

Oh God!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N; Ha! An update! Yay me! Or not, because frankly, I'm not happy with this chapter. It felt... forced somehow. Really hard to write. Oh well, it's out there now. I'll try to hurry up with chapter 8, hopefully it will be easier to write that one. As I said, I'm not really happy with the result of chapter 7. I hope it's readable any way. Thank you for haning in there with me!

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As soon as Giles had left the room, Spike's head began to spin. He felt almost dizzy, and the outline of his vision had began to blur, as if he hadn't fed for a long time. His fingers had began to tremble.

He felt numb. He tried to form a coherent thought in his head, but he couldn't get any longer than to _'no'_, or _'please'._ He couldn't even form the sound of her name in his mind. He'd never had a problem with that before. The trouble had always been to _not_ think about her, not to have the two vowel sound spinning round and round inside his brain.

That name.

_Buffy..._

As soon as he first was able to think that, it was like a lever had been pulled somewhere. All of a sudden he felt eerily calm, and he began to try thinking about the situation rationally.

He had been left alone in the room. Giles had rushed out the door as soon as the girl had finished talking, and had almost knocked her over in his hurry to get out and to the phone. She had quickly followed him ('_Like the well trained little lapdogs the slayers are supposed to be', _the small part of his mind that wasn't entirely paralysed had thought,) and it seemed like they had forgot that he was there. No one had come to check on him since Giles had left. If he had been paying attention to the time, he would have realised that he had been left alone for about ten minutes now. It could have been ten hours, or ten seconds. It wouldn't have made any difference to him.

Slowly, the chock receded more and more. He began to come back to himself. And even though his fingers still trembled and his thoughts were hard to keep in control, his eyes had cleared and he felt like he could stand up without toppling over. Not that he could stand anyway. He was still bound to the bloody chair.

Damn!

The chair was an heavy old thing, made of dark, solid wood with a seat cushion of faded, woven read linen that felt like hadn't been stuffed on this side of the industrial revolution. The rope they had used to bind him with was thick hemp and smelled faintly of tar, and they didn't budge when he tested their strength. They had tied the rope painfully tight. It wasn't like he had any circulation to worry about any way.

He had to get out there and find out what had happened. It couldn't have been as it sounded, he forced himself to be certain of that. She wasn't hurt. She was _not_ dead! She was not...

He slumped back in the chair, eyes tightly shut. He tried to control his body's physical reaction to his cripplingly painful thoughts. Tried to persuade his body to stop trembling like a leaf in a strong gale and fighting down the feeling of nausea he hadn't felt the likes of since he was alive. He had to pull himself together to find out what was going on. He couldn't help her if he didn't know what was wrong. And he had to help, if she was in danger. Every decision he'd made about staying away from her to save himself the heartache of seeing her with another and to give her the happiness he'd always known she deserved was forgotten in an instant.

The night she jumped from Glory's tower replayed itself behind his closed eyelids. The utter despair he'd felt when he'd seen her broken body on the ground, nothing more than a corpse. And then he relived the excruciating months after her death, when the only thing stopping him from walking out in the sunlight was the promise to look after her sister. He had failed her. He hadn't saved her. She was gone, and he was left behind, shattered into a million, aching pieces.

_'Every night I save you...'_

He would _not_fail a second time!

***

Dawn was sitting on her bed with her arms crossed over her chest, her foot tapping impatiently on the floorboards and with a frown marring her pretty face. Something had happened, probably something bad. And she had no idea what it was. It irked her. No one would talk to her.

She and Andrew had flown to London when she left school for the vacation, and she was going to stay with Buffy and her niece for he entire summer. She knew Buffy and Heather had been forced to move out of London to some small village she'd never heard of, but she was still a little hazy on the details. Her sister had promised to fill her in as soon as they saw each other again, so she had waited, unusually patiently for her. There was no point in asking Andrew, no one ever filled him in on anything anyway.

It had begun almost as soon as he had stepped out of the plane from Italy. Rona had met them on the airport, as was promised by Giles, but she had barely said two words to them and had clearly been stressed out and nervous the entire trip back to watcher central. When they had arrived, Andrew had been told that Giles wanted to talk to him immediately, and had been led away in the opposite direction of Dawn, who was practically being dragged to her room and then dumped there, all her indignant shouts and questions ignored.

And if it was something Dawn Summers didn't like, it was being ignored.

Something bad had happened, and they didn't tell her! It was like being fourteen all over again. Well, she would have none of it! She refused to be kept in the dark. If they didn't want to tell her what was going on, she was going to have to find it out for herself. It was like the thing with Glory all over again.

Mind made up, she left the room and headed towards the smaller study in the left wing. All books of importance at the moment had the ability to migrate there, since it was Giles favourite room for research. It was in the most quiet part of the building as far away from chattering teenage girls with big clomping feet as possible.

At least she would get an idea of what was happening if she saw what he was researching at the moment. She hoped as much anyway. Taking care not to be spotted by any passing slayers or watchers-in-training, she made her way to the door she was looking for. Hearing a noise behind her, she quickly opened it just wide enough to allow her to slip through, went inside and closed the door behind her without making a sound.

And then she got the shock of her life.

Sitting just a few feet from her, was Spike. Or his doppelgänger. He was bound to a chair, and he had jerked violently when she'd entered the room, clearly shocked to see her too. The he opened his mouth, and croaked out;

"Nibblet?"

And all her doubts and fears flew away, and tears began to stream down her cheeks. He was here, right in front of her, alive! Or, well, undead. It was really him!

Spike!

With a wail she rushed forward and threw her arms around his neck, nearly making the chair topple over. She laughed and cried at the same time, half convinced that she had gone completely insane and was hallucinating.

Spike could feel tears prickling in his eyes too. He had his nibblet in his arms again, the girl he loved like his own sister! Or he would have had her in his arms, if he wasn't still bound to the chair. And if he wasn't currently so worried about Buffy, he would have been quite content to stay like this for a very long time, with Dawn clinging to him like she would never let go, but he couldn't. Not now.

"Dawn? Nibblet? It's nice to see you too, luv." His voice was cracked, betraying his high-strung emotions, making Dawn bawl even louder. "Hush now sweetheart, you don't want all the slayers barrelling in here, do you?" She quieted down and raised her head from his shoulder. She shook it, not trusting her voice yet. He smiled wobbly at her. "Do you think you could maybe get me out of these ropes, bit? I need to find out what is going on around here."

Dawn nodded, still not quite believing her own eyes. She started fiddling with the knots on the ropes, but quickly realised she couldn't possibly undo them with only her hands. She needed something sharper.

She reached down to her ankle, under her loose fitting pants, and drew a small, but very sharp looking knife from a sheath strapped to her leg. At Spikes incredulous look she smirked a little and shrugged her shoulders, clearly not seeing a point to explaining just now. Once she started working on the ropes, they quickly fell away. Turned out the knife was just as sharp as it looked.

When he was free from the damn chair at last, he bounded to his feet and pulled Dawn with him to the door. He turned towards her, put a finger against his mouth in a 'shushing' gesture, and pressed an ear against the door. His lips pressed together in a grim line when it was made clear by the commotion out in the hallway that he wasn't going to escape that way.

He turned towards the window instead, and looked out at the still early London night. Since it was the middle of June the sun would be up for hours yet, but the shadows between the buildings were long and deep enough for him not to fry until he could get underground. He loved the fact that the ancient city of London practically was built on top of a Swiss cheese. There were tunnels, catacombs and sewers leading anywhere you wanted to go.

He turned and kissed Dawn on the forehead, and whispered a 'thank you' quietly in her ear, then he turned to climb out the window. They were at the second floor, and the fall down to the ground wasn't even nearly high enough to bother him.

But Dawn would have none of that. He was not leaving until she got some sort of explanation. After all, that was why she had gone to the small study in the first place. She grabbed his arm surprisingly rough for such a small framed girl, and whispered urgently to him that the threat she had made to him the year before about waking up on fire still was very valid, and if he didn't tell her what was going on _right this second_ she was going to scream her head off.

Spike had to bite his lower lip not to laugh out loud, but at the same time he knew she was deadly serious. He lowered his head and started whispering low in her ear;

"I got spotted at the airport by one of the 'slayerettes'. She called the watcher on me, and I got picked up at a pub 'bout an hour later. I came back from the land of dust 19 days after Sunnydale collapsed, but I'll tell you that story later. Right now, I gotta get to Buffy. Something has happened to her. They were right in the middle of interrogating me when a phone call came from the police, mentioning something about Buffy and a death. I have to get to her, see if I can help."

Dawn stood there with her mouth wide opened, staring incredulously at him. She was sure she needed a better explanation than that, but she also realised they didn't have the time just now. Next time she saw him they were going to have a nice long talk, starting with why she never knew he had been back for so long. She was already getting pissed about that.

But he was right. She was also getting worried about Buffy. And the one person she could be really certain would be of help, was Spike. Not for a second did it occur to her not to trust him.

"Buffy's in a village a bit outside some city called Causton. 'Midsomer Parva', I think it was called. I was supposed to go there to live with her during he summer."

She let go of his arm, and he gave her a smile in thanks. Just before he jumped out the window, he kissed her on the forehead again. Then he was out, going out of her sight.

It was not until a few minutes later it occurred to her that she had forgot to tell him about Heather. Did he know Buffy had a kid? And did he know it was his? She didn't think so.

With a twinge of regret she realised he would have to find out for himself, one way or another.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Ha! Who'd have thought it? Reviews really does feed the muse! And let me tell you, she was really hungry. As a result, I am not only posting chapter 8, but chapter 9 as well! How is that for a thank you! Hurrah! I actually wrote chapter 9 in less than 2 hours, and I am really proud, if not about the contents of the chapter, then at least about how quickly I updated. Hope you will enjoy these sparkling new chapters! And please leave more reviews!

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Ben Jones walked in at the station with a slightly dazed expression on his face. The first thing he did when entering his workplace was taking a quick look around for his superior, and upon noticing that DCI Barnaby weren't in the immediate vicinity he slipped behind his desk and sat down on his chair quietly, staring straight into the wall the entire time.

_'Well... That was interesting...'_

He understood perfectly well why he had been told to interview the young, pretty blonde woman who lived at the cottage, instead of the old biddy who'd actually found the body. It was his punishment for arriving at the crime scene late. Damn those car keys! The girl had been livid, ranting and raving and _demanding_ to be let in the house and to make a phone call. She had actually refused to answer any of his questions until that request had been granted. After a lot of discussion they had reached a compromise where he made one of the uniforms make the call to "her uncle in London". After that she had calmed down a bit, making it a hundred times easier for him to do his job, even if it in actuality had been simpler to get information from one of the rosebushes around the house. At least until the baby strapped to her back started fussing.

It had really been a real ordeal, getting the answers he needed from her. No, she had no idea why a decapitated body had been thrown at er doorstep. No, she had no idea who it could be, but she had rather cryptically asked if he had been dressed in tweed. And when he confronted her about being strangely unaffected about it all, she had just looked at him strangely and said;

"I grew up in a violent neighbourhood. I have seen a lot of scary things."

And that's when the baby had started fidgeting. It had seemed simpler just to let her be for the time being, and so he left her alone after a warning not to leave the village and with a promise to return with more questions. She had muttered a little under her breath, but had nodded her agreement to his demands and then rushed into the house to see to her child. And probably to make a second phone call to her uncle in London, he guessed.

When she had disappeared into the cottage and he had walked back to his car, he was left with a rather odd mix of emotions. There was relief, disappointment and... something much like excitement. Relief to have the ordeal of an interview over, since talking to her had been like swimming up the Niagara falls, disappointment much over the same thing, because he had the nagging feeling he had failed at his job by not getting all the answers from her and because he had cut their conversation short. And least of all... yes, he was excited. Excited at the prospect of seeing her again.

He had to admit, she had left him fascinated. Had he dug deeper within himself, he might even have admitted he was quite smitten by her. He had no problem admitting she was extremely attractive, with a gorgeous body, long blonde hair and those green eyes that had sparkled with indignation when she had spoken to him,or rather, shouted at him. And not only was she very pretty, but her personality shone through her in bright colours, and it spoke to him.

Had she not been in the middle of his murder investigation he would have welcomed any opportunity to maybe get to know her better. Of course he knew that was stupid on so many levels. First of all, she looked much to young for him. He didn't know how old she was, but she could easily had passed for nineteen for god's sake! And she had a kid. And probably the child father to go with it. Much to complicated to go there. And then it was his job. What on earth would the DCI say? He probably wouldn't approve, in his own, subtle way, and would have been telling him to 'act professional'.

Those were the complications _besides_ the most important one. That they had found a headless corpse in her front yard. Practically on her doorstep. That was no small obstacle.

But maybe it was just as well he couldn't get to know her outside of work. Because just as he could admit to himself how attractive he found her, how she had him fascinated, and that he wouldn't mind terribly to see her again, he could admit to wanting backup the next time he had to talk to the fiery blonde American. Having Barnaby with him would be like having a safety line while climbing up a steep mountain. Because he could admit to one last thing;

She had actually scared him a little.

***

DCI Tom Barnaby sat on the couch in his living room with a glass of red wine in front of him. His wife, Joyce, was not in tonight. As usual, she had some cultural group or other to attend, if it wasn't about theatre it was about flowers or making wire baskets. Some arts-and-crafts deal anyway. He thought he had heard her say something about a book club meeting, but he couldn't be sure. He just knew he would probably be late. That suited him just fine. He felt like he needed a quiet house tonight. This knew case of his was quite the puzzle.

On the other hand, weren't they all?

But this one really took the cake, and not just that. It grabbed at the entire dessert buffet! A headless body found in front of a cottage in a village he'd solved a series of grizzly murders not even a year before! Sure, it was only the first day of the investigation, but already he could tell this one was going to demand all of him.

The thing on the forefront of his mind at the moment was the mysterious inhabitants of the cottage. The young American girl who hadn't been living in the village more than a day, and her less than a year old daughter. He had Jones' notes in front of him on the coffee-table, and the information he had managed to wrangle out of her was sparse, to say the least.

Nothing about her personally, except her and her daughters name, and that she was unmarried had been divulged. Nothing about her family, the father of the child, or the reason for er moving to the village had been mentioned. She had been strangely calm and almost unaffected by the fact that they had found a decapitated man in her new front yard, she had mostly been angry about it. She had claimed not to know who the dead man had been, or why he had been dumped in her garden, but Barnaby was already convinced that there was a connection between them. She was either lying, or she really didn't know anything _yet_, but the experienced DCI was willing to bet his badge that the investigation would show that somehow the young American was involved in the murder, either by knowing the victim, the murderer, the motive or by being directly involved in the crime. And then there was the odd comment about the tweed...

He was curious about her. He needed to know more about her background, where exactly she came from, her family, and what she had been doing in the states. She had said she 'grew up in a rough neighbourhood', but it was hard to imagine what kind of place would make a young woman so blasé about finding a headless man outside her house. He also wanted to know why she suddenly decided to move to rural England. The local gossip had told him that she was a freelance photographer, and that she moved to the countryside to get inspiration for her art pictures. That should have been enough to satisfy any other man, but Tom Barnaby's suspicious mind had thought him not to rely on village gossip a long time ago. Not that it didn't have it's uses, of course.

He would take Jones and go talk to her tomorrow. He had yet to decide whether she was a victim or not. He wanted to get to know the woman behind the chilly, and rather impressive exterior of one Anne Sinclair.

***

Spike had travelled from London to Causton by the train, and arrived eleven twenty at night. He had then managed to find a taxi, thinking that was the fastest, if not smartest way to travel to the village Dawn had mentioned. He figured it wouldn't be hard to locate her in the small community, a beautiful American girl would surely be the talk of the town?

The taxi drive had taken over an hour, and when he finally arrived, the whole place was asleep. He had no idea where to begin looking. He settled to find a place that would keep him safe from the morning sun, and decided that the first person he spotted would be thoroughly interrogated.

It was just before sunrise when the earliest riser ventured out of his house. Harold Fredericks was a building contractor in his late fifties, and just this day he had to oversee the construction of an apartment complex just outside Causton, so he had been up and ready to go at four thirty in the morning. He liked to be punctual.

He nearly let out a decidedly unmanly scream when he felt a cold hand clamp down around his wrist. The entire deal abut the murder had shaken him just as much as the other inhabitants in the village, and he was already a nervous man to begin with. He turned around so quickly he almost stumbled over his own feet, prepared to defend his life against a maniac with a hatchet if need be, but was surprised when he came face to face with a young man, no older than 30, slightly shorter than him, with light brown, really short hair, shockingly blue eyes and a scar over one eyebrow. Harold had always prided himself on his ability to notice details.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you, mate! I hope you'll be able to help me", the stranger said with a thick, north London accent. He smiled in a way that was probably meant to be friendly, but to Harold it looked almost predatory. "I'm looking for someone. A young American girl, blonde, quite short with green eyes. She shouldn't have been around here for very long. Know who I'm talking about?"

Harold nodded, hesitantly.

The strangers smile widened. "Well then, excellent! Then maybe you could tell men where to find her?"

"At a quarter to five in the morning?", Harold couldn't help but ask incredulously.

"I might have to wait a few hours to see her, but you see, I was in London when I heard that something might have happened to her, so I jumped on a train to Causton and took a taxi from there. I need to see if I can be any help."

Harold relaxed slightly. The man didn't seem intent on hurting him in any way, and he thought he could see sincere concern in those deep, blue eyes, and maybe a slight glimpse of real dread deep down there as well. It seemed like he really cared about the girl.

"Yeah, something happened all right, but as far as I know, she's fine. My wife told me she had moved in to the B 'n B for awhile, just until after the investigation is completed"

"What investigation exactly? You know what happened?"

And so Harold proceeded by telling the stranger the entire gruesome story, and when he was finished he could see real relief in the young man's eyes.

"So she's fine, right? Not hurt or anything?"

"No, as far as I know, they're both all right, her and the baby girl. She should be able to see you, but I suggest you wait a couple of hours before visiting her. You know how women can be early in the morning. Worse than bears, if you wake them", Harold said with a wink, now almost entirely comfortable around the stranger.

"Heh. Don't I know it;" the young man said with a smirk. Then he thanked Harold, asked for directions to the Bed and Breakfast, and started heading that way. Then after a few yards he suddenly stopped, turned around and sprinted back to the surprised Harold. He took a firm grip of the older man's shoulders and asked, with a wild and confused look in his eyes;

"What baby girl?!"

***

Buffy's night had been sleepless, but for once it was not because of the baby, who had slept soundly through the entire night. No, she had suffered from insomnia because of the happenings of the day. In spite of her calm and unmoved act in front of the police, the reality of finding a dead body outside her brand new home had hit her when she was left alone again.

She and Heather had been asked to move out of the cottage for the time being, and had relocated to a small Bed and Breakfast in the village. The first thing she had done after settling in their small, but immaculately tidy room was to burst into silent tears, while holding her daughter tightly in her arms. Her crying fit had not gone on for more than a few minutes, but she admonished herself for her display of weakness anyway.

And when she had gone to bed, she had simply not been able to fall asleep. She had gone through the days events over and over in her head, from leaving the house in the morning, to coming back to finding a wailing, hysterical woman and a headless corpse in her front yard, to talking to the police and moving out. She had played through the phone conversation she had had with Giles as soon as she had been able to, and though he had sounded extremely flustered and actually a bit distracted, he had promised to come to her within the next few days, and to take Dawn with him. Apparently something serious had happened in London while she was gone, and he couldn't leave right away. He hadn't wanted to say anything about it over the phone, apparently because she 'had plenty on her mind to worry about as it was', and he assured her the situation would be taken care of. A comment that had left her even more worried.

So I was a bleary eyed, cranky and worried Buffy, who had yet to drink her morning coffee, who went to answer the door to her room at half past eight in the morning. She vowed that whoever was on the other side of that door, would be in for one hell of a welcome!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hello, me again. As I said, I give you a two-for-the-price-of-one offer this week. Chapter 8 AND 9! Sorry about chapter 9 being slightly shorter than usual, but I always manage to keep my chapters over 2000 words, and this one is too, I promise. Just a slight warning lable; there might be colourful words in this chapter. The story is rated T after all. So, please read on, and _please_ leave a review (She said, chewing her nails nervously...)

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It was a rather nervous sergeant Jones that knocked on Anne Sinclair's door at eight thirty in the morning. His boss had told him to be there as early as possible. He had also said he would be right there with him, but had called not fifteen minutes before and said he would be a bit late, and could Jones start the questioning without him? He shouldn't be more than 20 minutes or so.

Before the phone call, Jones had been slightly calmed by the fact that his boss would be with him the next time he had to go head to head with the stubborn blonde. When he found out he were to 'soften her up' for the DCI, he felt slightly panicky. He hoped he wouldn't be thrown out on his arse as soon as she saw him.

When the door opened, he was confronted with a bleary eyed young woman who looked anything but pleased to see him. He braced himself when she opened her mouth, and in a split second he decided to try to get a word in before he was shot down completely.

"Now, miss Sinclair, before you start to say anything you might regret later, just consider I am here because of a murder investigation. I would prefer to have this very much needed conversation sooner, rather than later. Wouldn't you agree?"

He saw her deflate somewhat, but she still looked less than happy when she glared at him. She still had her sleepwear on, a tank top a bit to big for her, and a pair of light blur cotton shorts. With her messy hair she managed to look utterly adorable. Se sighed, and her shoulders slumped even more.

"You might as well come in then", she said, and opened the door wide enough for him to slip past her. "But try to keep it down. Heater is still sleeping".

And Jones couldn't help but beam at is slight victory!

***

Spike had managed to find a shady spot under some trees just a few yard from the building the old geezer had pointed out for him. It looked like it would be a cloudy day, so he felt somewhat safe. It wouldn't do to dust before he had a chance to at least muster up the courage to go and talk to her!

She was so near, he could almost smell her! He would have gone to her a long time ago, if it weren't for the bombshell the old man had dropped on him.

Buffy was here with a child. Her child!

How had that happened? Well, obviously he knew _how_, but when? And more importantly, with whom?! He now regretted not asking the man how old the baby was. Could the bloody immortal have knocked her up? Was it physically possible for him to do that? He had always assumed that the immortal had the same deal he did; no need to reproduce when you're going to live forever.

Could it be some other worthless git? And why wasn't he here with her? The older man had been certain about that; she had moved to the village alone with her daughter.

The man he had interrogated hadn't known the baby's name, but he had a nagging suspicion that he himself knew. It was something Giles had told him. He had asked what he knew about someone named Heather.

Buffy's daughter Heather, maybe?

A myriad of emotions was whirring through his mind as he paced the shady spot under the trees restlessly. A big part of him felt utterly crushed. She really had moved on when he had dusted, and very quickly too, by the look of things. He felt betrayed, and hurt, and would like nothing more than to get his hands, and fangs, on the bloody bastard who had dared to touch his woman, his slayer, soul or no soul!

Surprisingly enough, a very, very small part of him was actually happy for her sake. Finally, she had been granted a bit of the normality she had always craved, and had been given the opportunity to raise a family of her own. Something he knew he could never have given her.

But most of all, he was more confused than he had been in his entire existence. He thought about their last night together, when they, in his mind at least, had made love for real for the very first time. No violent fucking, and no guilty look in her eyes afterwards. She hadn't even run away, but stayed the entire night, huddled in his arms. He had held her the whole time, not sleeping more than maybe half an hour, just marvelling at the fact that she was actually there, with him.

And at the time, it had felt like she was. There, with him, entirely, for the first time. It had felt like they finally were on the same page, even emotionally.

He had fooled himself that it was possible that she actually loved him.

And then she had told him, and he had answered her; 'No you don't. But thanks for saying it'. He had said it to get her to leave, to get her out of the cave, to save her, but it had also been to save himself. Save himself from the heartache of leaving her when she finally loved him back! He was afraid he would be weak, and change his mind. He knew he had to finish what he started. He had to see how it ended.

And so he had sent her on her way, while the cave crumbled around him, and the rays of the sun singed his flesh and finally set him aflame. But he had perished with a small flickering hope in his hart that maybe, just maybe, she had meant what she had said. That she loved him!

And now he was back, and that hope was now entirely extinguished. She had a child, with somebody else, 'cause it couldn't bloody well be his, now could it? Vampire here people, as sterile as you can get! If you don't happen to be Angel, the soddin' poof, and manage to bring a propheticed son into the world, with no other than the bloody she-beast Darla!

He had always been jealous of his grandsire, he could even admit it! He got it all! First Drusilla, then Buffy, then the flashy job at Wolfram and Heart (but he could admit that now he was bloody glad and grateful that had fallen on Angels shoulders, and not his), and he had even managed to get a child. That last fact made the jealousy flare up inside him again, even more potent then ever before, even though he had never given a thought about children until now.

How he wanted that child to be his! Something tangible between himself and Buffy, something he could protect, cherish and love like he had loved nothing else before! How he wished that Buffy had actually meant what she said to him in that cave,and that by some miracle the powers had taken pity on him for his sacrifice and granted him with a gift. The gift of a daughter.

And now even he could hear how ridiculous his thoughts had become. He sounded like a bleedin' ponce, for Christ sake! He was almost ashamed of himself.

The fury was returning to him, pushing away the despair. He had to talk to her, now more than ever, to get a few straight answers for once in his life! He would not let her wriggle her way out of this one!

He lifted his jacket above his head and made a mad dash to the front door of the Bed and Breakfast, not caring about the sun rays that managed to burn him, despite of the cloudy sky. He was glad there wasn't anyone in the small entry, somehow he didn't think they would be all that welcoming and helpful towards a man who just rushed in, smoking and smelling slightly of burning bacon. He just had t follow his nose to find her now. So he did just that, and went up the stairs. He could almost swear he felt his heart beat by how nervous he was!

***

Buffy felt a lot better now, despite the lack of coffee. Sergeant Jones was actually not that bad, once he had managed to get past her not so charming morning persona, and he had even managed to get her to smile a little. He was polite and pleasant, when she gave him a chance to talk, and she actually felt a little bit ashamed about how she had treated him the day before. He was only trying to do his job, after all.

They had talked for almost forty five minutes, and she had given him the entire story about her invented persona, Anne Sinclair. When he had asked her about the 'rough neighbourhood' she had mentioned the day before, she had just shrugged and said; 'you know, LA', as if that had explained it all.

Heather had wakened up halfway through the conversation, with surprisingly little fuss. After being fed, she had settled on her mothers lap, staring with huge, fascinated eyes on the strange man she didn't recognise. Then suddenly, she stretched her chubby little arms towards him, and demanded to be picked up.

Jones looked towards Buffy with questioning, and a little weary eyes. She just gave him a tiny smile and shifted Heather, and put her on his knees instead. Heather beamed toothlessly at him, and he gave her a hesitant smile in return. Then she started playing with his tie.

Jones tried his best to go on with the questioning with the child on his lap, all the while wondering where his superior had gotten to. He had said twenty minutes, now it had been almost fifty. Not that he minded that much. He was actually enjoying himself quite a bit. Now that Anne cooperated with him, he found her to be really sweet, and the tiny crush he hadn't quite admitted to himself that he had on her grew a fraction more.

***

Spike had stopped in front of the door he was sure she was behind. He had been so focused on her smell that he'd nearly missed the other two coming from the room. One that couldn't belong to any other than the baby, and another, stronger, and decidedly male fragrance. That one really disturbed him.

And to make it worse, he could smell excitement from the unknown man!

He had planned to knock, and enter like a normal person, really he had. His intentions had not been to rush into the room with a wild look on his face and punch the living daylights out of the man he found in there, with his hand on Buffy's knee. But when he heard the sound he had dreamed about for more than a year, the clear sound of her laughter, clearly caused by the man that was not him, he just saw red, and he couldn't help himself. So he did just what he wasn't supposed to do.

Thankfully, Buffy had just lifted Heather from the sergeants lap when the door burst open, and a black and white whirlwind stormed in. the next thing she knew, she heard the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh, and the sergeant was laying on the floor, on the verge of unconsciousness. She quickly put Heather down on the bed behind her, and jumped up in a fighting stance, ready to protect her child from the danger that had entered the room.

But when she got a good look at the apparition in front of her, all she could do was stare at it. Standing there, staring at her with a wild look in his eyes, his fist tightly clenched at his sides and panting needlessly was...

Spike!

Spike, without his leather duster, and with no bleached blonde hair, but still with the same piercing blue eyes that could stare right through her soul, the same scar across one eyebrow and with the same, sinfully delicious lips.

So she did the first thing that came to mind. She acted on instinct alone. She grabbed his face, and kissed him, hard. And when she felt him close his arms around her, she broke free before he could hold on to her. Then she punched him, and broke his nose.

That's when Detective Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby walked trough the door.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I'm _baa-ack_! Yet another update, despite the lack of reviews on chapter 8 and 9. Shame on you! Now, it won't matter one way or the other when it comes to me finishing this fic, because I promised myself I would see this project through, no matter how it was received. In the end, I am writing a story I would have wanted to read, and that's what matters to me. And I'm dying to see how it ends!

Still, virtual cookies to everyone who takes a few seconds out of their busy lives to leave a review. It makes it about a thousand times easier to write (and the updates will come quicker). Thanks for staying with me, and please, enjoy (or hate) chapter 10, and don't hesitate to tell me so!

//Moonspring

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The sight that met DCI Barnaby when he walked trough the door to Anne Sinclair's room would stay with him years to come. There was his sergeant, lying on the floor behind the bed, looking decidedly dizzy and barely concious. The bed, that currently housed a happily giggling baby girl, under a year old, watching her mother punch a man he had never seen before right in the face, producing a loud crack when she must have broken his nose. The man stumbled backwards a few steps but managed to stay upright, much to Barnaby's surprise. It had looked like the little blonde packed one hell of a punch!

The man regained his balance, and gingerly wiped his nose, while Anne stood there staring at him, her mouth slightly agape. She was visibly trembling. The unknown man studied the bloody tracks left on his hand intently. Then he started to laugh.

It began as a low chuckle, but quickly rose in volume and intensity, until Barnaby was sure he could hear the beginning of hysterics at the very edges of he young man's voice. Apparently Anne could hear it too, because she aimed another punch at him. This time, however, he managed to avoid it, and he exclaimed with an indignant voice;

"Bloody hell, slayer! Watch it!"

And then the woman suddenly burst into tears. "Watch it? WATCH IT?!!" she screamed at him, while the tears streamed down her face. "I spend over a year mourning you, believing you were gone, and now you turn up here, telling me to WATCH IT?!! have you got ANY IDEA..." She took in huge gulps of air, visibly trying to calm herself down, failing miserably, before she continued; "Have you got any idea how much I've been hurting? How? Why? How did you get back? Why aren't you dead?"

Before the man could answer her, she crumpled to the floor and covered her face with her hands, emitting heart-breakingly loud sobs. The young man clearly didn't know exactly what to say, he just stood there, gaping like a fish out of water.

Then he turned his head towards the ceiling, and closed his eyes. He sighed.

He sat down on his knees beside her, and wrapped her in his arms. They just sat there, holding each other, the woman sobbing on the man's shoulder, and Barnaby could feel a lump in his throat. Even he was being affected by the touching reunion, even if he hadn't understood a tenth about what had been said.

He cleared his throat loudly, as much to dislodge the lump as to get their attention. The couple on the floor started, and for the first time looked directly at him. None of them had noticed his arrival until now.

He walked passed them to his sergeant, and helped the poor man to his feet. Anne stood up as well, just now remembering to look after the child. There was nothing wrong with the little girl however, she just looked slightly confused about all the commotion. She put her small hand against her mothers cheek, as if trying to wipe her tears away, and got a shaky smile from Anne in return. The strange man sat on the floor beside them, staring up at hem, studying the baby.

Barnaby helped Jones to the bed, where the sergeants still weak legs forced him to sit down rather heavily. All the while the DCI studied the unknown man intently. Barnaby had learned early in his career that peoples faces often told more truth than their words did, and over the years he had learned to interpret the most subtle twitches in someone's facial muscles with a startling accuracy. He was very, very good at his job.

Now, he used this talent to read the man in front of him. He didn't really need to try. The young man's face was not just an open book, it was a cinema screen. It was a little tricky to keep up with him though. A wide range of emotions swirled past his pale features, (and he was _very _pale, Barnaby thought. His skin looked almost translucent!), and he thought he could see confusion, anger, sadness and resignation in the man's eyes, with a lot of other emotions as well. All the while the man's gaze didn't leave the baby for even a second.

Barnaby felt it was time too speak. "I would like an explanation for all this, if you don't mind. I will get it, one way or another, either by bringing you in to the station for a proper interrogation, or we could talk here. Now, I don't know about you, but I would prefer the second option. It's your choice." his voice was authoritative and firm, and would clearly not tolerate anything but total cooperation. However, he felt like e was being more or less ignored by the two people he had addressed. He was getting more and more frustrated.

The unknown man was still sitting on the floor, but now he slowly stood up. He barley spared the two policemen a glance, but had his eyes firmly placed on the woman with the child in her arms. He spoke, further reviling his cockney accent.

"You know, luv..." he said, with a slightly shaking voice. "I wouldn't mind some explaining myself".

"Then get in line!" she spat at him. "I asked you first, dammit! You're not dust! Why aren't you dust? How long have you been back?" Her face was not as easy to read as the man's had been, but Barnaby had a lot of experience at it, and he could see anger and confusion in the woman's face, but they were almost overshadowed by the brilliant light of hope shining out of her eyes.

Barnaby stepped in before the man got a chance to answer her. "Before we continue with this, I'm afraid I have to know your name," he stated firmly, and looked straight into the man's eyes. He finally managed to get his attention.

Spike stared right back, quietly challenging him, but when he saw nothing but steely determination in the older man's grey eyes, he backed down, just this once. Maybe he would get to talk to Buffy alone faster if he cooperated. He would give him his human name. A name he hadn't used for over 120 years.

"I'm William Sinclair. Who are you?" he had to ask, just because he didn't want to give any information, however inaccurate, without getting some in return.

"Detective Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby, Causton CID. I am in charge of the murder case that miss Sinclair here is in the middle of at the moment. And from now on, I will be the one asking the questions around here, thank you! Starting with..."

He was interrupted before he could say anything more. William , as he had called himself, whipped his head around to once again stare at the young woman. He he lifted his eyebrows and asked incredulously, in a rather loud voice;

"Miss Sinclair?!"

The girl stared right back at him. You could still see the tear tracks on her cheeks, but the tears had stopped falling. When she answered him, her voice was shaking, but strong.

"I knew that was your name. That's why I chose it. It seemed... right."

William blinked, then blinked again. He opened his mouth, but this time it was his turn to get interrupted, even before he could actually say anything.

"Enough!"

Barnaby had reached his limit. He was bloody irritated. It wasn't often he felt like nobody listened to him, but with these people, he felt almost invisible!

"I give you two seconds to start giving me an explanation, or I WILL call in reinforcements and take you to the station by force! Is that clear?" When he saw their mute nodding, he continued, in a much calmer voice; "Now, Who exactly are you?". He pointed at William.

"He's Heathers father, isn't he?" Sergeant Jones spoke up for the first time. He was still sitting at the end of the bed, with the DCI standing beside him. All eyes suddenly turned towards him, one pair of questioning eyes from his boss, startled eyes from the young woman, and a pair of first chocked, then bitter and finally regretful eyes from the man that had punched him. He had directed is question towards Anne, who was standing a few feet away from him, still with the baby in her arms, but it was the man that answered him.

"Well no, we know it can't be me, don't we pet?" he said, while his eyes turned from the sergeant towards the woman and with a hurt and bitter tone to his voice. "In fact, I just found out she had a kid, and I thought you were the nipper's Da'. That's why I knocked you one". He added the last bit casually, without the smallest trace of regret to his tone. That earned him a heated glare from the woman he had addressed, but he didn't waver. 'Brave man', both the others thought.

"I didn't ask you!", Jones barked at him, but he didn't move his eyes from Anne either. "I believe I asked miss Sinclair. And I would like an answer, if you wouldn't mind". He was swaying slightly were he sat, but his voice held strong and firm, and broke no argument. His boss was quite proud.

For a split second, Buffy didn't know what to do. To tell, or not to tell? That was indeed the question. But what to say if she lied? And what to say if she decided to tell the truth? That would lead to more explaining and a lot of persuading, because right now, Spike didn't look inclined to believe anything she had to say.

But she couldn't lie about this. Not now. She was still confused, angry and upset, but inside she was deliriously happy! The man she had mourned for over a year was standing right in front of her, looking lost, angry, hurt and as confused as she was. She had him back! The man she loved was back!

And with that thought, a chill went through her. She had told him that, right before he had gone up in a pillar of fire. He had said; 'No you don't, but thanks for saying it'. It had almost destroyed her. She had finally said it, but it was to late. He had died, thinking he was alone and unloved, and it was her fault! If only she had said it sooner, if only...

If only a lot of things! The steely, rational part of her mind took control over her thoughts. It was no use crying over 'what could have been's'. She knew that. What counted was here and now, and right now, she had to tell the truth. For once in her life, she was going to fess up to Spike.

She owed him that.

All that went trough her mind in less than a second. She saw Spike turn towards sergeant Jones and open his mouth, no doubt to make an angry repartee, and she she knew she had to speak first.

"You're right. He is. William is Heathers father." She looked Spike straight in the eyes when she said that, daring him to contradict her, to call her a liar.

Which was exactly what he did.

"No bloody way in hell I am the kids father, you know that!" His head turned back towards her sharply. "I'm as sterile as you can get, I can't bloody have children!" There was anger and hurt in his voice, and quite a bit of sadness, but also a bit of uncertainty. Buffy knew she had him.

"She's eight months old next week. I went ten days over when I was pregnant. Do the maths, William. Count from the night before the ba... before the fire." She remembered hastily that they weren't alone in the room, and instead of saying 'battle', she changed it to 'fire'.

Before Spike could answer her, they both heard Jones saying; "I knew it! You'd have to be bloody blind not to notice Heather's practically his clone."

And Spike looked at Heather again. He'd had his eyes trained on her almost the entire time he had been in the room, and he _had_ thought she looked like someone he knew. At first it had made him even angrier, thinking that not only had Buffy gone on to sleep with another guy so soon after he'd dusted, but it was someone he knew. But then he had begun to doubt. He couldn't remember anyone specific, she reminded him of, except... but he knew that was impossible.

Still, he had to say it.

"She... she reminds me of my mother..." He almost whispered it. His throat felt like it had clogged up.

Barnaby spoke up. "Yes, I can see it... the nose, the cheekbones... definitely the eyes. She does look remarkably like you":

Buffy was still looking at him, and he could see a tear glistening in the corner of her eye, and a small, almost invisible smile playing at her lips. He couldn't detect anything that indicated she was lying.

He collapsed against the wall. His head felt numb, and afterwards he wouldn't be able to remember what, of anything was going on in his mind at that time. With an incredible amount of effort, he managed to choke out one word;

"How?"

And Buffy smiled.

***

She held the head in her hands, staring into its lifeless eyes. She was pleased. Everything was actually going better than she ever could have planned! The vampire had found them, almost without any assistance from her. That was good. She needed to save her strength. The stronger she was, the sooner she could get out. She had thought she would need to steer him to get him to were she needed him to be, and that would have been draining. Vampires were a bit harder to influence than ordinary humans, and even that was cripplingly difficult these days, if they weren't really simple minded.

She needed to make another grand gesture. They needed to be ready for her. It was not necessary that they knew who she was, but her vain streak wouldn't allow her to remain anonymous for much longer, and certainly not for three full more weeks!

Maybe she should take another head? She already had the one she needed, but it was always good to have a spare. You couldn't be too careful. It was a bit draining, but now when she hadn't needed to steer the child's father in the right direction by her powers, she felt like she could afford to use just a little bit more. She would work on that. It would take her another few days, but there would soon be another body in Midsomer Parva. And this time, she would be sure to sign her work.

They would finally know her name.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Chapter 11 is here! I really should have uploaded this days ago, since I finished writing it last week, but I've been really busy lately. Sorry if you had to wait. You should'nt have to wait too long for chapter 12 though. 3-5 days at the most. Hope I still have any readers left.

And of course... Rewievs are always nice. Please?

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_He collapsed against the wall. His head felt numb, and afterwards he wouldn't be able to remember what, if anything was going on in his mind at that time. With an incredible amount of effort, he managed to choke out one word;_

"_How?" _

_And Buffy smiled._

***

Tom Barnaby and Ben Jones couldn't do much other than stare at the scene unfolding in front of them. It was like being caught up in a bad soap-opera, but with better acting. It had all the ingredients of a day-time TV drama; the man who'd disappeared comes back from the dead, to discover that during his absence the woman he'd left behind had given birth to a child. On top of that, she was trying to tell him that he was the father, something he clearly had a hard time believing. But the question '_how'_ still sounded incredibly stupid in the policemen's ears. Perhaps the guy needed a talk about the birds and the bees?

Currently, the man, William, was leaning heavily against the wall by the door, his questioning and a bit unfocused eyes never wavering from Anne's face. And she just smiled at him. A sad little smile that was barely noticeable if you didn't know where to look for it, but a smile none the less.

When no one had said anything for about half a minute, Barnaby decided enough was enough. He took Jones gently by the arm, and helped him stand up from where he'd been perched at the end of the bed. "I think the two of you need to talk," he said. When he didn't immediately get the pairs attention, he cleared his throat, and when their eyes turned from each other towards him, he repeated himself.

"I think the two of you need to talk. Jones and I will be downstairs, but if one or both of you aren't down there within the next forty minutes, I'm coming up again. I will get an explanation for all this, is that clear? Starting with why my sergeant was laying barely concious at the floor when I got here."

He got two mute nods as an answer, and decided he had to be satisfied with that. He led Jones out the door and down the stairs, arriving in the dining room just as the owner of the B'n B had finished putting together the breakfast buffet. Manoeuvring Jones to a chair, ha got them a coffee mug each, and settled down to wait. Neither of them could remember a time they'd needed a cup of coffee so desperately before in their life.

***

After they'd been left alone, neither Buffy, nor Spike said anything for a few minutes. What was there so say? 'So, you've been dead, huh? How did that work out for you', or, 'so you've got a kid, eh? And you say it's mine? Splendid!' didn't quite seem to cut it. In the end, Buffy sat down on the bed, and motioned for him to sit beside her. Slowly, he managed to move the few feet between the wall and the bed, and sat down heavily. Then he put his face in his hands, and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

It had been couple of rough day's, to say the least.

He lifted his head from his hands, and looked towards the two girls sitting beside him.

His girls.

Could it really be?

He sighed. A couple of lifetimes on this earth had taught him not to take anything of this magnitude for granted. Anything this huge, anything that could grant him happiness in the future was bound to have a bloody big clause somewhere. A great big 'but' that would ensure that whenever something was going his way for a change, he would drive onto a great big bump in the road, and more often then not get thrown of the proverbial carriage and get trampled by the horses.

He was getting pessimistic in his old age. Quite rightly so.

He sighed again, and decided it was time to say something. The silence was beginning to drive him insane.

"Do you want to start, or..." He said, breaking eye contact. "I have a lot to... Christ Buffy, have you any idea what you just did? You've thrown me for a bloody loop here. I'm not sure what to believe."

"And you think it's any easier for me?". He noticed a trace of her earlier anger in her voice, but now it was laced with sadness. Maybe a bit of bitterness too. "Before I say anything, I want to hear the entire story. Starting from when I..." Her voice softened, and she looked down at the floor. Heather tugged at a few locks of her hair, and got her to look up again. She continued; "Starting from where I left you in the hellmouth".

He could hear her fighting the tears at the edge of her voice. It made him deflate somewhat, and instead of starting an argument he knew from experience he was going to loose anyway, he told her the entire story without leaving anything out.

He told her about burning in the hellmouth, and watched as her lips trembled and a single tear ran down her cheek. He told her about appearing out of the wretched amulet in Angels office nineteen days later, and about the time he spent as nothing more than a ghost. He told her about when he finally regained his corporeal body (but left out the bit about Harmony; he was still trying his best to forget about that), and he told her that he'd had the boat ticket in his hand, intent on going to find her, but... that he'd changed his mind. He admitted to being a coward. He said that he couldn't have handled her rejection. Sure, he knew she'd be glad to see him, even welcome him, but... he didn't think she could give him what he really craved, and at the time, he didn't think he'd be able to settle for less.

When he came to the fight between him and Dana, the insane slayer, and told her about loosing his hands, he had to pause. Not because he had a problem with continuing, but because by that time Buffy was shaking and sobbing so hard that she could barely breathe, and he gathered her in his arms and let her cry against him for a couple of minutes, ever mindful of the baby that sat quietly perched on her mothers lap. When she had collected herself, he continued his story, but when he mentioned Andrew...

"That little weasel!! You mean he knew all that time you were back, and he didn't tell me? He didn't tell anyone??!" She cried out indignantly, loud enough to upset her daughter, who screwed up her face in a grimace and let out a scared whimper. Buffy quieted instantly, and gave the scared little girl a comforting hug while whispering soothing words against her soft curls. She motioned for Spike to continue.

Despite his fascination with the little girl, he managed to start talking again. He even managed to tell her about the journey he'd taken to Rome, now that he knew that she hadn't really been there at the time. It didn't hurt as much anymore. And then he finished the story, telling her about the battle in LA in a detached voice, as if he hadn't really been there. In some ways it felt like he hadn't. It was like a lifetime ago.

When he didn't have anything to say any more, he waited for her to speak. He didn't have to wait very long, but what he heard wasn't quite what he had expected she'd say.

"I'm... I'm sorry about Fred." She couldn't quite muster the strength she needed to look him in the eyes, so she watched the floor intently instead. "I didn't hear about it until after, and by then it was too late. I promise you, I would have helped her if I could, but... Giles was in charge at the time. I was sick." She really looked devastated and genuinely sad when she said that, and he couldn't help but believe her. But he had to ask, anyway;

"Sick? What happened? Did a nasty get to you?" Despite the fact that she clearly was all right now, sitting there in front of him, he felt a tremor of fear going through him. Had he almost lost her? Would he have been able to help her? Was it his fault that she'd got hurt?

"Spike..." he could hear the hesitation in her voice, as if she wasn't entirely sure she should tell him. Evidently, she reached a decision fairly quickly, because he could see her jaw setting and that familiar, stubborn look was back in her eyes.

She wasn't really sure she should tell him. He was bound to take it the wrong way. Somehow, he was sure to blame himself, even if he didn't have anything to do with it, a part from the obvious.

But she was done lying to him, she had already promised herself that. She owed him complete honesty, and if she didn't tell him now, and he found out from someone else later, it was bound to get worse. She'd tell him. Everything.

"Spike...", she continued, now with the strength in her voice he knew so well and had missed so much. "When Heather was born... Spike, I nearly died."

Ah. So it was his fault she'd gotten hurt after all.

***

Giles was just about ready to slam his fist through a wall. The frustration was almost tearing him in half! Spike had disappeared to the Powers knew where, although he had a pretty good guess as to were he would turn up eventually. Dawn had locked herself in her room, and was currently refusing to talk to him, and he didn't know why. He hadn't seen her since she came with Andrew from the airport. He had no idea what he could have done to send her into such a snit.

Oh yes. And then there was Andrew.

Andrew, who'd known for several months that Spike was back in the land of the living dead, and hadn't breathed a word about it. A serious case of hero worship and in Giles' mind totally misplaced loyalty had kept his mouth shut. He would get what was coming to him, eventually, but not right now. For the moment, he would be placed under house arrest in the council building in London, at least until this police business with Buffy had been taken care of. One problem at the time.

He had spoken to a young police woman on the phone, and after she had assured him that Buffy and Heather was all right, she had informed him that a dead body had been found in the garden of the cottage his 'niece', Anne Sinclair, currently occupied. He had not gotten any details beyond that, only that Buffy (or Anne) was not suspected of doing anything wrong at this moment in time, and that it was important that she stayed in the area as she was an important witness. If he wanted to see her, he would have to go down to Midsomer Parva.

So he quickly packed the bare necessities that would be needed for such a trip, (which meant one duffel bag of clothes and one huge leather suitcase full of books), got Dawn to pack her bags and arranged for Rona to go with them. Although Dawn was still sulking and barely said half a word to him, she was done packing in five minutes flat, and was in fact waiting in the car for him. No need to argue about her being tardy, at least.

Fifty minutes after he hung up the phone after talking to the police, the three of them were on their way. He hoped one slayer would be enough for the journey. Rona was the best they had, surely she'd be able to handle anything they might encounter? After all, there hadn't been any reports about demon activity in the Midsomer area for years and years. No need to assume there would be any now, right?

Right?

***


	12. Chapter 12

A/N; Sorry about the delay. I said three to five days, and clearly I was wrong. I shouldn't make promises I can't keep. To make it up to you, I'll post chapter 12 _and_ 13 at the same time. How's that? I know these chapters kind of slow, but I felt these conversations between Buffy And Spike were essential to the story. Feel free to complain if you think otherwise.

As always, reviews are more precious than gold to me. That is if I have any readers left. Oh well, maybe I'm writing only for myself then. Guess I can live with that if I have to. *Sniffle*

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_**Six weeks after closing the Hellmouth**_

_She was bent over the toilet. Again. It was the fifth morning in a row, and she was amazed she'd been able to keep it unnoticed for even that long, considering people seemed to run in and out of her room all the time. Incredibly enough, not one of them seemed to have mastered the complicated art of knocking. _

_But now the game was up. Dawn had cornered her. And of course, she'd summoned Willow, and even Kennedy, despite the fact that Dawn really didn't like the girl. But where Willow went, there went Kennedy. _

_Dawn was easily scared. She'd already lost her mother, and Buffy had died on her once. She didn't plan on losing her again. And Buffy never got sick. Never! And now Dawn had stumbled upon her while she was throwing her guts out. And so, of course, she'd had a mild panic attack, and rushed to get Willow, because clearly Buffy was dying on them again. _

_Brilliant. _

_After she'd emerged from the bathroom, there had been the standard intervention to attend, with the usual judge (Giles), and jury (Willow, Dawn and this time, Kennedy), but minus Xander. He'd never fully recovered from loosing Anya in the Hellmouth, and had more or less isolated himself after the battle, seldom talking to anyone. _

_The first thing out of Willows mouth had been 'bulimia'. It seemed to fit. Buffy had been loosing a great deal of weight the last two years (what with the being dead and all), and an eating disorder brought on by stress and depression seemed like a passable explanation. However, when Buffy pointed out that it was seven thirty in the morning and that she hadn't even eaten breakfast yet, that train of thought quickly derailed. She herself was adamant that it was nothing more serious than a simple stomach flu, and that seemed to be generally accepted by the court of assembled scoobies. Until Kennedy spoke up._

"_Perhaps you should take a pregnancy test?"_

_And so, chaos ensued._

_It took a couple of minutes to get the shouting down to such a level that she could explain that there was no possibility whatsoever that she might be pregnant, because the only person she'd had sex with the past year had been Spike. Even as she had to fight the tears and the clogging of her throat, she'd even promised to take a pregnancy test anyway, just to prove she was right. _

_So Willow brought home a little stick that afternoon, and personally guarded the bathroom door the next morning, when Buffy took the test. _

_Buffy stood with the stick in her hand and stared with unseeing eyes into the bathroom mirror, thinking how absolutely stupid this whole thing was. She wasn't pregnant. You have to have sex in order to become pregnant, and even though she technically had met that requirement, you still couldn't get pregnant by someone who was one hundred percent sterile. Vampires couldn't have children. Simple as that. No exceptions._

_The time was up. She glanced at the stick, even though she knew what the result would be. She sighed. Yep, it was negative all right. She was just about to toss it in the garbage when she stopped herself. She had to look again. Was it one or two lines that meant positive? She checked the box, just to bee sure._

_The only verbal response to the biggest chock of her entire life had been a quiet 'Oh'. _

_Then she screamed for Willow._

_*** _

"We did every possible test we could think of," Buffy continued her story whilst Spike listened intently, drinking up her every word like a man dying of thirst. "Both by magic and the normal, medical way. The only thing we could see was that whatever I was carrying was healthy and completely human. Willow could find no trace of anything demonic whatsoever. Giles nearly had a complete breakdown. When he questioned me about my sex life the last year, we both nearly died of embarrassment." She quirked her lips a little, but shuddered noticeably at the same time.

"He didn't believe me at first when I said I'd only been with you, and even made me undergo a combined truth-and-reviling spell, to check if my memory'd gone wonky. When it showed I was telling the truth, he nearly had a heart attack."

She paused, and studied Spike carefully. His eyes were suspiciously glassy, and his jaw was tightly clenched, but other than that his face showed nothing of the raging war of emotions that was currently going on inside him. It was not that he was trying to hide his reaction from her, it was that there simply was to many emotions screaming and demanding attention at the same time. All equally strong, fighting to reach the surface, and the result was an almost eerily stony expression that currently showed on his face.

The feeling wasn't unfamiliar. When it came to Buffy, he'd lived with the inner turmoil of conflicting feelings since the day he met her, so he was used to it. But right now, it nearly did him in. It was almost too much. Finally, the war was won by his old and trusty friend, Complete Confusion. When Buffy saw his face settling in a questioning mask, she took that as a sign to continue. She lowered her eyes to the mattress, and spoke up again.

"I... Some people... there were people that wanted me to get rid of the baby right away..."

"Because it was mine."Spike interrupted her, barely whispering the words. It had finally sunken in. She was telling the truth. Buffy's lips quirked into a sad little smile, but she didn't look up from the mattress. She wasn't done yet. She continued.

"I was so angry at them. I actually had to move out for a while. Until then I'd had my own space in the council building in London, but after I heard them say that... I just couldn't take it anymore. I managed to get my own apartment, and Dawn came with me. She's been amazing, she's been there the entire time." Heather made a gurgling noise from her place in her mothers lap, and Buffy trailed of again. It seemed like she zoned out, and although Spike was hesitant to say something to interrupt her, he wanted to hear her tell him about the birth. When he almost lost her.

"Buffy... What happened when... when she was born?" He asked, with a clearly audible tremble in his voice. He saw her close her eyes and shake her had slightly, before she started talking again.

"It was a pretty easy pregnancy. I guess I had some help with the whole 'super slayer stamina' thing. I bloated like a balloon, but I felt great the entire time. And I was happy. Actually happy. I really can't remember feeling like that since the first time I died." She smirked t that."That's a pretty weird thing to say, right? 'The first time I died...'" She let out a quiet chuckle, and even Spike couldn't help but smile slightly at that. She quickly sobered though.

"I told you I went ten days over time, right? Those last days were the longest of my life. I was big as a whale, and my back was killing me. I couldn't wait until 'the big day', you know?" He nodded. He could imagine. If he'd been there with her, he would probably have climbed the walls. Patience was never his forte.

But he hadn't been there. He'd been in LA with the great poof. Eight months ago... about the time he became corporeal again. A horrible thought occurred to him; What if she'd gone into labour right about the time he'd had his little stunt with Harmony? He felt the acid rise in his throat. He shuddered and his face distorted into a grimace. Luckily, Buffy didn't notice. She was looking at the bed again. When she continued, it was in a lower voice than before.

"When I went into labour, I was ecstatic. I was so happy it was finally happening! It was just Dawn and me in the apartment. It was in the middle of the night. Dawn called a cab and they rushed me to the hospital. We were about halfway there when I started bleeding." She had to take a deep breath at that point. "It was really bad. It was so much blood. Dawn nearly panicked, but she held it together. I can't remember much of it, except for the pain. And I was afraid. I've never been so scared in my entire life. I knew something wasn't right. Before we made it to the hospital, I passed out. Everything that happened after that, other people told me about."

Spike was silent. He didn't know what to say. He just looked at her, silently imploring her to continue talking. And she did.

"There were complications. Apparently, the doctors were quite perplexed." They both smiled at her involuntary Giles-ism, despite the serious topic. "The didn't really know what was wrong, or were all the blood came from. They decided their best bet was an emergency C-section. When Heather was born she was perfectly healthy, but I'd lost a lot of blood. I didn't wake up."

"What happened? What went wrong?" Spike asked, reaching for her hand. It was as much for giving her support as for getting it from her. He was pretty badly shaken.

"We still don't know exactly. The doctors had a theory about fragile blood vessels, but apparently, as soon the baby was out of me I stopped bleeding. They'd never seen anything like it. And then I just stayed unconscious. They told me it was touch and go for a while whether I'd make it or not. I was out for a week." The tears, never far under the surface since she'd first realised he was back, came through again. "I didn't see my daughter until she was a week old, and when I woke up I was too weak to even hold her. It felt like I'd been drained, wrought out like a used towel. I could barely lift my arms."

She sniffled a little, and made an effort to collect herself. She'd cried enough for one day. Actually, shed reached her crying limit for the next month. She didn't like it. She felt weak when she cried. She felt so... girly.

"Dawn had called Giles, and he, Willow and Xander was there when I woke up. They were really great. They asked me to come back to the council, and I said yes. It took me two months before I was feeling like my old self again. I thought it took a long time, but apparently it should have taken twice as long. Slayer healing does have its perks. " She actually giggled a little, and Spike looked like a big question mark before she offered an explanation. "You should have seen Giles with Heather when I was still recuperating. He was the picture-perfect grandfather incarnate! He adores her. Well, they all do."

"Of course they do. I have no problem imagining that. She's the most perfect child I've ever seen." Spike actually beamed, and a shadow of his trademark arrogant smirk was actually showing through. He reached out a hand towards Heather, but didn't quite touch her. He didn't dare, yet. His smile faded a little, but was still noticeably there. "And I'm not just saying that because she's..." He trailed off.

"Because she's yours." Buffy lifted her hand and put it against his cheek. She gently caressed his face with her thumb.

"She's mine..." He said that in barely a whisper, with awe in his voice. For the first time since Buffy'd began talking, they made eye contact. They sat on the bed next to each other, and just looked. Buffy opened her mouth to say somethin, but she didn't get the chance.

There was a knock on the door. The time was up.

***

Even though he didn't get an answer to his knocking, Barnaby entered the room he'd left exactly forty minutes earlier. He had sent Jones home, to rest up a bit. It had seemed like he needed it. He found the three persons exactly where he'd left them, the two grown-ups sitting beside each other on the bed, the woman with the child on her lap. He hoped they had talked things through by now, because now it was his turn to get some answers. The coffee had helped to calm down his strained temper, but he was still pretty irritated.

"I hope you're ready to answer some questions now," he said, with a calculated stern look on his face that had been perfected over the years he'd worked as a policeman, specially constructed to make criminals confess to all kinds of crimes just by looking at it. It usually worked to, but these two just looked at him, and then looked at each other. The girl shrugged her shoulders, apparently deciding she was the one that was going to talk to him.

"What do you want to know?" she asked.

Barnaby let out a quiet, relieved sigh. Perhaps now, things would get easier. He sat down on the only chair in the room, opposite the bed. He fished up a small notebook and a pen from a pocket inside his jacket. Finally he would get some answers. At least he hoped so.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N; Posted chapter 13 at the same time as chapter 12, as promised. Yay me!

Review, review, review! Pretty please?

(Oh, and as a special treat I uploded a smuttier version of Chapter 2, to be read as a standalone. Its called "Trying to tell". Check it out, but be warned; Its rated M for a reason.)

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Barnaby sat on a chair opposite the bed in the small room occupied by miss Anne Sinclair and her daughter in the small Bed and Breakfast in Midsomer Parva. Anne sat with the child in er lap, and the man that had introduced himself as William (however unwillingly), was sitting next to her on the bed. He was finally ready to start questioning them.

"Could you start with why my sergeant was lying on the floor, barely conscious, when I got here before?"

"Yeah..." the man, William, began. "Sorry 'bout that. It was a... misunderstanding, on my part." This time, he had the decency to look slightly ashamed, and his thick cockney accent seemed to disappear a little, making way for a hint of a more sophisticated upper class accent. there was only a small trace of it, but Barnabys trained ears managed to pick up on it right away. You had to notice things like that to be a good copper. And he was a very, very good copper.

"Could you please tell me what, exactly, was going on here before? Miss Sinclair, you seemed chocked to see him, to say the least. Am I right in assuming you thought he was dead?" He already knew she'd thought that, it had been very obvious, but he wanted to hear it from her, in her own words. Sometimes, by listening to people talking, you could find out more by hearing what they didn't say, than what they actually felt fit to tell him.

"The last time I saw him... There was a fire. I though he died. That was about seventeen months ago. I never heard anything from him to prove he was all right, not until he barged in here about an hour ago." she sent a slightly hurt look towards the man, and he looked ashamed again. He turned his head against the wall.

"I didn't think she'd want anything to do with me. We have a... complicated history. So I took the easy way out and disappeared."

"So, how did you find her?" Barnaby asked. "Why come barging in in her room and punch the lights out of my colleague?" His voice hardened. He hadn't got a satisfying answer to that part of the story yet.

"I was in London. Giles, her..."

"Uncle", Anne supplied quickly.

"Yeah, her... Uncle." William gave her a quick look sideways. "He found me. He never did like me much. He decided he needed to talk to me. Wondered where I'd been an' such." He turned towards Anne again. "We were in the middle of a... 'conversation', when there was a knock on the door, and one of the girls came in and told him there was a phone call from the police. She said there had been a murder, and that Bu... Anne had been involved." he took her hand in his, squeezing it slightly. "It sounded really bad. It scared me. So the fist chance I got, I took a train down to Causton, and a Taxi from there. I needed to see if she was all right."

"How did you know where I were? I don't think Giles told you, did he?" Buffy asked, a curious look on her face.

"Ha! No, he wasn't much help there. Dawn told me. Her little sister," he explained to Barnaby, but didn't take his eyes away from the two girls.

"When the taxi dropped me off, it was the middle of the night, and I had no idea where I was going to start looking for her." he continued."so I waited around for a couple of hours, until I saw someone I could ask. I figured an American girl in these parts ought to be well known around the neighbourhood. Turned out I was right too. About five in the morning I found a guy who was getting ready to go to work or something, and I asked him. He knew right away who I was talking about." he smirked at Anne. "Seems like you've made quite an impression around these parts, pet."

"Yeah, I noticed," Anne muttered, but she didn't elaborate.

"Anyway," William continued, "He told me about the decapitated body in her garden, and he also told me where she was, and even gave me directions to the B n B. He assured me she was all right. Actually, he said hey were both all right, her and her little girl." now he turned his face away from her and stared at the wall instead. "That threw me for a loop. I had no idea she had a kid. And I got... angry, I guess. Jealous." he turned back to Anne. Barnaby was starting to get the picture, but he didn't interrupt him.

"I love you," he told Anne, and seemed almost oblivious to the company they had in the room. "And when I heard that, I thought you had moved on to some undeserving bastard." He almost spit the words out. "And at the same time, I knew I had no right to you. I didn't come back to you, even though I could have, months ago." he closed his eyes tight, apparently battling some strong emotion inside him. Anne squeezed his hand in reassurance, and that got him to continue.

"So I waited a couple of more hours, pacing around and working myself into a right temper. I didn't know how old the kid was, and even if I'd have known, it'd probably had made me even angrier. It never occurred to me that she could be mine." He turned towards Barnaby again. "I thought I couldn't have children. Thought I was sterile. Apparently I wasn't."

"Apparently not", Barnaby said in a dry voice. If he wasn't the father of Anne's daughter, she must have slept with his twin brother or something. It was almost unnerving how much the little girl looked like him.

"Anyway, when I finally made myself go and find her, I see she's not alone." He got a bitter look in his face. "She's with some... man!" He spit out the word again, like it left a foul taste in his mouth. Barnaby fought the little smile that threatened to settle on is lips. Jones had apparently been in the wrong place at the wrong time. "Looking right cozy they did too," William continued, and crossed his arms. A slightly petulant look settled on his features. "Yeah, I guess I was wrong, shouldn't have pounced on the git, but I saw red. Though he was the guy that knocked her up. Got her to forget about me."

"I didn't forget you. Never could. Even when I desperately wanted to, I never could. You were always there." Anne Whispered. Barnaby couldn't help but feel a little touched. It was a sweet little scene that had played out in front of him.

"I didn't know that, did I? " William grasped her hand again. "And really pet, I wouldn't have blamed you if you had. All my fault, you know? Me 'n my poncey insecurities."

"Well, now I feel like we've sorted that out," Barnaby said. "Now, miss Sinclair, how about we start talking about the body in your garden instead, hm?"

Before he could ask any further questions, his phone rang. He excused himself, rose from the chair and answered it. There was a clipped and hurried conversation, and then he hung up.

"I'm sorry, but we'll have to continue this conversation some other time. I'm afraid I have to go. Miss Sinclair, I hope you don't have any plans to leave the area. We will have to talk again." He gave them a court nod, and then left the room.

Buffy was perplexed. "What was that all about? A minute ago he couldn't wait to interrogate me. Not that I'm complaining."

Spike didn't say anything, but stared at the door the policeman had disappeared through. He knew what it was all about. Vampire hearing was a good thing at times.

They'd found another body.

***

Barnaby met up with George Bullard at the scene of the crime. Or at least where the new body had been found. Again, there were nothing to indicate that the murder had occurred there. There was a minimal amount of blood, and again the head was missing.

The body had been found in the middle of the road leading up to the cottage where the other body had been dumped. Apparently, whoever had placed the body there had wanted to be as close as possible to the original dumping site, but hadn't dared venture inside where the police had closed the property off.

Bullard didn't waste any time. "Same procedure as last time, Tom. Killed somewhere else, dumped here. Cause of death, decapitation."

"So there was nothing to indicate that the first one we found was decapitated after death?" Barnaby asked.

"No, but I'm still waiting for some test results. Not that I think they will show anything different."

"Thank you George. Anything else?"

"Apart from the fact that this one is a woman? No. Quite young, in her early twenties I guess. Fully clothed and with no sign of any kind of struggle. No visible damage to the body. Well, apart from the missing head of course. "

"Of course," Barnaby said dryly. Georges humour could get a little to macabre even for him at times. Still, he guessed he needed it to be able to do the job. It must be easier to cut the corpses up if you distance yourself from them first.

He sighed. This case began to look like it would be one of the hardest ones to solve in his entire career. Two unidentified decapitated bodies in two days. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. He needed to inform Jones about the new developments. It took three signals before the sergeant answered.

"Sir?" He sounded like he'd just climbed out of bed. Barnaby guessed he had, after the morning he'd had to endure. He quickly filled him in on the new findings, but when the sergeant insisted on coming back to work he stopped him. He said it was no need, and that it was better that he stayed in and rested for the rest of the day. He said he'd call if anything else came up.

Barnaby hung up the phone and turned back to Bullard. He gave the okay for them to take the body away. The only thing about this case he felt he had some knowledge of was that it obviously was connected to Anne Sinclair somehow. It was not a coincidence that both corpses had been found within thirty feet from the cottage she had inhabited for less than four days. And the mysterious man with the sometimes thick northern London cockney, sometimes upper class Oxford English accent was one piece of the puzzle he didn't quite know what to do with. Maybe that piece belonged to another jigsaw puzzle altogether?

He needed to know more. Miss Sinclair and her daughter seemed to have a slightly shady background, to say the least. He needed to know more. A background check. He wanted to know exactly where in the united states she came from, and what she had done there. If she had been in Britain before. He felt sure that somewhere in her background story he would find the crucial piece of evidence that would unlock the entire case for him.

He needed to get back to the office. He had some phone calls to make, some friends to get hold of, and some debts to cash in on. He knew from experience that getting information from the Americans about their citizens was hard, and that he needed all the help he could get. By the end of the day, he felt sure he would have some information about the mysterious woman in the cottage. In the mean time, he would try to find out as much as possible about William Sinclair, the father of her child.

At least he was British. That should make it much easier to find out everything about him. Birth date, parents, employments and so on. Maybe he even had a police record. That would make Barnabys day. He almost felt quite optimistic.

.

It wasn't very often Barnaby was wrong about something, but this time he really didn't know what he was going up against.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: See people? Reviews make me update! I dedicate this chapter to Sarra Torrens, who actually took ten minutes out of her life to write a few lines about this story. Now, would it kill you to do the same? Chapter 15 shoul be up soon, and for the first time in a long time I can actually see an end to this fic! Yay me! :D Enjoy reading chapter 14 in the meantime.

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"What do you mean 'there's nothing'? How can there be nothing? He doesn't even have a birth date? Anything?"

Jones had decided to ignore his boss's suggestion that he take the rest of the day off, and by lunchtime he was back at the office again. The first thing Jones had been charged with after coming back to work was to research the background of one 'William Sinclair', the man who had punched him in the face barely twenty four hours ago. He really didn't mind the rather tedious task. A small, petty side of him wanted to find something incriminating on the man. Hoped he had a police record. There was something strange about him, something that wasn't quite right. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

He wasn't just thinking that because he was slightly jealous. It was definetly not because he had a slight crush on Anne Sinclair. Of course not. That wouldn't be professional.

He hadn't expected it to be easy, but not to find anything at all... sure, there were a number of 'William Sinclair's' around Great Britain, many of them having had trouble with keeping at the right side of the law, but not one of them was the William Sinclair who'd hit him straight in the face at the Bed and Breakfast in Midsomer Parva. They were too young, too old, too fat, too skinny, too scarred, too tattooed... not a single one fitted the profile of a Caucasian male between 25-35 with light brown hair, blue eyes and no significant marks on him apart from a scar over one eyebrow.

There was nothing there.

And he had to tell the DCI that. Barnaby had not been pleased. In fact, he had seemed more agitated than Jones had ever seen him before. His normally cool and calm demeanour was still there, but the sergeant could tell that his boss's temper was stretched to the limits.

He just hoped he wasn't going to be there when it finally snapped.

***

There hadn't been any good news. No leads whatsoever in the murder investigation. The autopsy report had come back on the first victim, but it hadn't revealed anything they didn't already know. No toxins, no drugs had been found in the body, and it had no other injuries apart from a missing head. And still there were no identification to either victim!

There was nothing there.

Barnaby could feel the hold he had on his temper getting weaker and weaker. And now his sergeant tells him there hadn't been anything to find about the man, William Sinclair. It seemed like he didn't exist. No parents, no birth date, no former occupation... the man was a bloody ghost!

He wasn't completely out of ideas yet though. He was quite good at solving mysteries. It kind of went with the job.

He still had some contacts with the MI6. He really hoped he wasn't going to need them though. He wanted to talk to mister Sinclair one more time, to see if he couldn't get any answers the easy was first. If it didn't work, he would turn to higher authorities.

Even if it left a foul taste in his mouth.

That could wait though. Right now, he needed to talk to the man who seemingly didn't exist. He was going back to the Bed and Breakfast.

***

Giles had reluctantly left the council in the competent (he sincerely hoped) hands of Xander, who'd just as reluctantly had accepted. He was thinking about calling him to see if everything was all right. Then he realised he hadn't been away from London HQ for more than a couple of hours, and decided against it. He didn't want to seem too paranoid.

It was about twenty minutes left until they would arrive at their destination. It had been a quiet ride. None of the girls had said more than a few words, Dawn being unusually tight-lipped.

He had no idea what was wrong with the girl.

And Rona hadn't spoken either. She'd stared out the window, seemingly lost in thoughts. She was so distracted he had to address her three times if he wanted to talk to her, so he soon decided it was easier to just leave her to her contemplations until they arrived. Something was troubling her, but he but he wasn't very worried. It was probably just some trivial teenage drama or other. It was probably the same with Dawn.

Still, he couldn't wait for the car ride to be over. He sped up.

***

Rona stared out of the car window, but didn't really see anything. She was lost in thought.

Spike. She'd seen Spike. With her own eyes. She'd been the one to first find out he wasn't as dusty as he'd obviously wanted them all to believe. She'd not been there to bring him in to headquarters, but she'd talked to the girls that had been in the search party. They said he'd seemed more... annoyed to be caught, than anything else. He hadn't tried to fight them, hadn't tried to hurt them, but he had made an extraordinary effort to goad them, to be as irritating as possible, apparently trying to provoke them into doing... something. No one had been sure what, exactly.

She hadn't lived in the same house as the vampire for more then a few weeks, but even she could see that that sounded a lot like the Spike she'd known. Apparently he hadn't changed that much.

So why try to hide his return? Why didn't he want them to know he'd somehow escaped the hellmouth with his unlife intact? He would have been welcomed back a hero, she was sure of it! Hell, she'd hand him a freakin' medal herself.

He'd saved them all.

And Buffy had been a complete wreck for weeks after the battle. Quiet, introspective, often with bloodshot eyes from crying. She never let any of them see the tears, but she knew. They all knew. And then, suddenly, she'd seemed happier. Calmer. And then she had told them the news. She'd gathered everyone in the biggest room in the council biding in London and told them she was pregnant.

She hadn't said anything about the father, and the rumours had gone wild amongst the junior slayers. Every male person in the area had been considered, even mister Giles, which Rona though was not only stupid but... Blech!

Rona, and the other Sunnydale survivors had had their own theory. They didn't talk about it much, only on occasions they were sure no one could hear them, and always in hushed voices. They all knew were Buffy had spent the night before the battle. The timing fit, perfectly. And then, when Heather was born, it had almost been a confirmation that they were right. No one who'd ever laid eyes on Spike couldn't deny the likeness between him and the baby girl. She was his, all right.

And now, Spike had escaped the watcher central. No one knew how, but she had a pretty good idea where. Clara had told her about his reaction when she came in and told mister Giles about the phone call from the police about the murder. The look on his face had been almost comical, she'd said, if the situation wasn't so serious.

He'd been chocked and terrified.

Rona was convinced that he'd headed straight to Buffy when he escaped. The affection between those two during the last days in Sunnyhell had been unmistakeable. He was going to go straight to see her, to see if she was all right.

A small smile played across Ronas lips. She'd pay a lot of money to see Buffy's face when she first laid eyes on Spike.

And to see Spikes face when he first saw Heather.

***

It was raining when Giles parked the car outside the brick building he'd been told Buffy was currently housed in. the girls got out without saying a word to him, and rushed towards the front door. He followed in a sightly calmer step, holding an old newspaper over his head to shield him from the worst of the raindrops. When he got inside, he saw Rona talking to a plump, elderly woman, and a flash of Dawn as she quickly bounded up the stairs, no doubt already knowing exactly were to go to find her sister.

He sighed, and walked over to Rona and the elderly lady. The Summer sisters might use some private time. They hadn't seen each other for ten weeks, after all. He'd give them five minutes.

The kind woman gave him the keys to his room, and gave him directions to where he'd find Buffy, or 'Anne'. When he turned to go up the stairs, she said;

"Perhaps you should wait a minute to go up there. The police that was here earlier said there was a man visiting her, and that she wasn't to be disturbed."

Giles sighed, but didn't slow his steps down. So apparently Spike had found her. He would actually had been more surprised if he hadn't been there. But enough was enough. Giles would see to that he wouldn't be there for much longer.

***

Dawn ran up the stairs towards the room that the sweet old lady had told her she would find Buffy in. Or Anne, as the woman new her as. She stopped outside the door. She contemplated just barging in, as she usually did, but she didn't want to disturb her niece. She might be napping or something. She opted to knocking instead.

There were the muffled sound of voices from inside the room. Buffy's and... Dawn smiled. Spike was there, as he'd said he would be. He'd found them, not that Dawn had ever had any doubts about that.

"What the hell do you want... Nibblet?" Spike opened the door, thinking that it was the police that'd come back, but instead he got an armful of seventeen-year-old girl, hugging him so tight that would have had trouble breathing if he still had needed to breathe.

Her voice was muffled in his shirt, but he had no trouble understanding her.

"You owe me an explanation, you stupid vampire, or I would find a flame-proof bed to sleep in tonight if I were you. "

Spike smiled over her head, and hugged her back.

"It's nice to see you too, Dawn."

***

Paul Horner woke up, and immediately wished he hadn't.

His head felt like someone had stuffed his ears with shattered glass, his tongue felt furry, and when he opened his eyes everything in his line of vision was blurred. Putting on his glasses didn't help. In fact, it seemed to make his headache even worse. He quickly ripped them off again. This was by far the worst hangover he'd ever had, hands down.

Except he had no memory of drinking.

He was not a poster boy for sobriety, far from it, but he never drank enough quantities to end up with amnesia. The last time he could remember having a hangover even close to this one was at his brothers stag night, and that had been nearly three years ago.

He tried to stand up, but quickly realised that that hadn't been the best idea he'd ever had. He sat down with a sigh, then clutched his head and moaned. His head felt like it was a nanosecond away from imploding.

He had to get to work today too. Mister Giles was going to kill him! Probably feed him to the first vampire he could find. A watcher never stayed home from work because of a hangover! A watcher should have enough sense not to _get_ a hangover on a day he had to work. No matter he had no memory of drinking anything the night before. He obviously had, otherwise he wouldn't feel like he did right now.

Right?

Still clutching his head he managed to stand up on wobbly legs and make his way to the bathroom without falling down in a heap on the floor, even though it was close a couple of times.

He leaned on the sink with his head bent down and his eyes firmly closed, trying to get the room to stop spinning. Without opening his eyes he managed to turn in the cold water. He cupped his hands and put them under the tap, filling them with the cool liquid, then he rinsed his face of.

He never noticed the water in the sink turning pink as he washed off the blood covering his face and staining his hands.

Just as he hadn't noticed it the last time either.

And the bloodstained broadsword hidden in his closet would remain unnoticed for quite a while yet.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: I am so sorry I haven't updated in such a long while. Writers block is a bitch. I've had this chapter half finished in my computer for weeks now. And with the summer ending and all... Again, I am so terribly, terribly sorry!

I can also say that you would have had to wait even longer for this chapter if not for the wonderful review LizZin gave this story. Thank you so, so much! You gave me the kick in the butt I needed to write the final 1000 words. This chapter is for you! Hope you like it. :)

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Her strength was returning to her faster then she could ever have expected! She had thought it would take her at least three days to get her hand son another head, but here it was, in her hands less than 30 hours after she had collected the first!

The watcher had turned out to be quite an asset. Who would have thought?

The real effort had been to move the body from London to the place where she wanted it to be found. When she had been at her full strength moving an object across a continent had taken little to no effort at all, but now, after such a long time of weakness the shear effort of the task just to move the body a couple of miles had left her crippled for hours. But still, it was better than before. Two months ago she'd barely been able to move her eyes in their sockets, much less move objects with only her will and mind. And considering her first act in over 90 years of complete stillness had been to achieve the impossible...

The people who had captured her had made sure that the only thing that could possibly bring her back from the dark abyss she'd been confined to would never come to exist. A union between a vampire and the one destined to rid the earth of the creatures that fed on the blood of the innocents... why, who had ever heard of such a thing? And even if one slayer betrayed her calling and came together with one of the demons she was supposed to kill, it didn't matter. All knew that vampires were sterile, were they not?

She had never given up hope though. And when she had picked up the rumour that there actually were a slayer that had succeeded to ensnare the hearts of not only one but two master vampires of the clan of Aurelius... well, there was no way that she could pass up her one chance to get free again. Her one chance to regain her strength.

Her one chance at revenge.

To create a child from a vampire and a slayer...

In her prime days, even that wouldn't have been a greater effort. A simple fertility spell, albeit ten times more potent than normal. But to do it sitting in a room two continents from the vampire in question, without even being able to lift her arms, barely whispering the incantation...

The fact that she had succeeded was a true testament of exactly how strong she would be once the curse on her had been lifted. And the wait was almost at an end.

***

Dawn soon disentangled herself from Spikes embrace and rushed over to her sister instead. They hugged, mindful of not squishing the toddler between them, then Dawn bent down and planted a soft kiss on the crown of her nieces head.

"I've missed you sweetie," she said to Heather, and the child smiled at her toothlessly and tugged at the long locks of her brown hair. She carefully loosened Heathers hold on her long tresses and turned back to Buffy.

"So, sis. How's merry ol' England been treating you since I left?" Dawn sat down on the bed next to Buffy, leaving Spike with no other options than the uncomfortable chair by the desk or to remain standing. He chose the latter, and settled to lean against the wall by the door, crossing his arms and his ankles.

"Oh, you know. Same old. Got threatened by an unknown skinless demon, moved from London to the obscure countryside, found a decapitated corpse on my lawn and ended up in the middle of a murder investigation. How was Rome? "

"I live with Andrew. How do you think it is?" Dawn quirked an eyebrow in a gesture that showed quite clearly what she thought about that living arrangement.

"Your own fault for choosing a school in Italy. You could have picked any school on the British isles, but no, you had to go to Rome." Buffy actually pouted, and Spike groaned inwardly. He was both relieved and a little disappointed that the gesture was not directed to him.

"Can you think of a better place to study the classical languages? No, didn't think so." Dawn smirked at her.

"Wait a minute now... You actually live in Rome? With the Wonder Boy? For real?" Spike asked incredulously. "I was there you know. Few months back, I was there with the poof."

Now it was Dawns turn to stare incredulously at Spike. "Wait... What?! You were in Rome? And who's 'The poof?' What were you doing there? Did you know abut this?" The last question was aimed at Buffy, who shook her head ruefully at her.

"I didn't know anything. A couple of hours ago I didn't even know he wasn't dust. The trip to Rome he just told me about."

"I was there with Angel. Was there on a retrieval mission. Getting a head." Spike clarified, but his explanation only served to get Dawn more confused.

"And again with the explanation you owe me Spike." She stood up, crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot. She even gave him a passable attempt at Willows 'resolve face', and he had to smile at the picture she presented. Behind her on the bed Buffy's shoulders shook as she tried to hide her snicker.

He was just about to answer her when someone knocked at the door again, and he turned his gaze heavenwards and cursed under his breath. Then he turned around on his heel and wrenched the door open before the person on the other side had a chance to knock again. When he saw who is was he had to steel himself not to close the door in his face.

"Watcher." He gritted out through clenched teeth. There really weren't any words on earth that could describe just how much he did not want to see this man right now.

"Spike. Would you mind stepping aside?" The look Spike gave him in return was pure ice, and might have frozen a lesser man to the spot. Nevertheless he complied, and moved out of the doorway. Giles didn't give him a second glance when he passed him into the room.

"Giles." The girls in the room did not react to the watchers presence as Spike would have expected. Buffy greeted him with a calm, almost indifferent look on her face, whilst Dawn pressed her lips together in a thin line and fell mute, all the while doing a rather impressive impression of a thundercloud. She looked pissed, to say the least, and he wondered what the watcher had done to invoke the Wrath of the youngest Summers Sister.

Incredibly enough, Giles didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he simply chose to ignore it. He smiled at Buffy and stepped towards her. As Dawn had done before, he bent down and kissed the top of Heathers head, and then straightened up again.

As much as he would have liked to have stayed and watched as the old man was put down a notch by the obviously irate teenager, he honestly couldn't stand to be in the same room as the wanker right now.

"I'll be right back, I'll just go out for a fag. Give you some time to talk to grandpa here." He smirked when he saw the watchers shoulders tense and his lips press together. Before Giles had time to retaliate or Buffy or Dawn had a chance to answer, he slipped out the door and down the stairs towards the entrance. He really hated leaving his girls in that room with the watcher (and they really were _his_ girl now), but he'd rather cut of his own ears than sit and listen to another of Giles 'We can't trust you, you evil bloodsucking fiend'-lectures. Plus, he really needed a cigarette. Or three. Or five. Oh hell, how many was left in that package again?

***

It was three o'clock in the afternoon, but he could honestly say that it already had been one of the longest days in his entire life.

It was raining. It was the heavy, dense kind of rain that almost had you expecting a trout to swim by you at shoulder hight. The kind of rain that felt like you'd thrown yourself head first into a lake in February, instead of walking (or rather sprinting) down the side walk in the middle of august.

And of course the weather rapport had said nothing about rain, so he didn't have an umbrella.

This day just kept getting better.

For the second time that day Barnaby was on his way to the Bed and Breakfast that currently housed miss Sinclair and her daughter, and hopefully the elusive William as well. It was him that he hoped to talk to right now. Before he called in all his favours and asked his contacts from MI6 for help, he wanted to talk to the non-existing man himself first. Dealing with the politics and bureaucracy of SIS would always be his last choice.

So distracted by his thoughts and trying to get out of the rain as quickly as possible, he almost ran straight into the suddenly open door. Pulling all the brakes and stopping himself right on time, he discovered that the man that had opened the front door to the BnB was in fact the very same man who he was there to see. He had almost collided with William Sinclair.

Spike had almost run straight into someone when he opened the door, and he groaned out loud when he realised it was the DCI that had tried to interview him earlier in Buffys room. During the 120-something years he'd spent as a vampire he'd actually had very little experience at handling the police. When they eventually discovered his 'leftovers' he was usually long gone, and if they happened to catch him doing something not very legal, it was usually solved with a broken neck or his fangs in their throat, depending on how hungry he was.

Those solutions to the problem wasn't really available to him now, what with the soul and all. He would actually have to talk to the bobby. Bugger...

Best get this over with.

"I'm guessing you came here to 'ave a chat with me or the lady upstairs, am I right? She's busy right now, her..." he racked his brain for the identity she'd given Giles in her earlier statements to the police. "...uncle and sister just arrived, and they're having some quality time right now."

"I'm actually here for you. Do you mind if we step inside? I'm sure the host wouldn't mind putting the kettle on. I'd rather not stay out in his rain much longer."

Spike shrugged and turned on his heel, walking inside again. He didn't wait for the DCI to follow him, he just went straight to where he guessed the dining room was located, since he'd never actually been there before. He guessed he'd have to save those cigarettes for later.

Barnaby followed the young man to the dining room. Spike had chosen a chair and was currently playing with his lighter with a bored expression on his face. The DCI ventured to the kitchen and came back a couple of minutes later with two mugs full of tea. He settled opposite Spike and placed one of the mugs in front of him. He got no acknowledgement from the younger man.

"Lets get right to the point, shall we?" Barnaby said after he'd taken a first sip of his warm beverage. "I was hoping you could help me with some facts that I have some trouble understanding."

"Lets hear it then. Anything to help the long arm of the law." Spike smirked, still not taking his eyes from the zippo in his hand, an air or absolute boredom and indifference surrounding him.

Barnaby just looked at him for a long moment, staring at him as if trying to read his mind. When he didn't succeed at getting eye contact with the man opposite him, he finally spoke.

"It seems you don't exist."

Spike dropped the lighter.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Ha! Update! Didn't see that one coming, didya? I'm on a roll here people! I'm planning on a little more action in the next chapter, and some Spuffy too, but until then I give you one more chapter full of talk, talk, talk. Just hang in there, will you? I promise it'll be worth it. :)

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As soon as Spike had disappeared from the room, Buffy made use of a talent she had perfected years ago; completely ignoring her watcher while looking attentive and interested in whatever he had to say. It wasn't like she didn't know what he was ranting about anyway, she had heard different varieties of this particular speech for several years now.

The difference this time was that she now was fully aware of the fact that everything he had to say about the subject was complete bullshit.

The subject, of course, being Spike.

Instead of listening to the watcher going on about 'the folly of trusting the undead', 'Spike is a loose cannon' and his new favourite 'The soul is no guarantee', her mind drifted to earlier that day, when she had spent several hours in her room with Spike doing something they had almost never done before.

They had actually talked.

They had talked about everything they could think about, they had joked and actually laughed together. She had told him everything about Heather, and he had sucked up all the information like a sponge. He had perched himself on the bed next to them, but he hadn't made a move to touch either of them. It was like he was afraid they were going to break by the slightest physical contact.

When her growling stomach reminded her that she hadn't had any breakfast yet however, she made sure he didn't have any choice in the matter. Before he could protest, she had deposited her daughter in his lap and made her way down to the kitchen before he could say a word. She managed to charm the manager into preparing a tray with something similar to brunch on it, and took it up to her room. The sight that met her when she opened the door made her heart swell, and a brilliant smile settled on her mouth. The expression on Spikes face was priceless, a curios mix between pure elation and complete dread. Heather had locked gaze with him and looked at him with the same expression she always had on her face when introduced to new people; a happy smile and a look of curiosity.

Buffy hadn't been gone for more than maybe ten minutes, but the look on Spikes face when he turned towards her almost looked as if he'd though she would never come back. A fact that was somewhat contradicted by the fact that even though he immediately handed the child back to her mother, he'd seemed almost reluctant to let her go.

They'd talked, and they'd laughed, and they had been really chocked when they'd noticed the time when they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Was it really ten to three already? Yes, they'd talked, it had never really been quiet for more than a couple of seconds at the time, but at the same time it didn't feel like they'd really said anything at all. Nothing of importance any way. Nothing but superficial topics, news or amusing anecdotes from their time apart had been mentioned. Not a word about the two of them (or really three now), about their feelings or what was going to happen next had been uttered. And although not one of them had said anything out loud, little else had been occupying their thoughts but what the other one _hadn't_ said..

_'He said he loved me. He still loves me. But he didn't come back, didn't want me to know he was back. I hurt him so bad. Have I completely lost him now? He loves me, but does he want to be with me?'_

_'She said she couldn't, wouldn't forget about me. Of course she couldn't, she's got a permanent reminder of me sitting on her lap right now. Does she love me? Did she mean it? She hasn't said she loves me. Oh God, what if I was right after all?!'_

Before either of them mustered enough strength to voice their thoughts out loud, Dawn had knocked on the door, and their time alone had come to an end. And now Buffy was still sitting on the bed lost in thought, while her watcher droned on and on in the background, but it was all white noise to her. One thought kept turning round and round in her skull, and a sense of dread started to fill her.

_'I just got him back! Have I completely lost him now?'_

_***_

"_It seems you don't exist."_

Bugger!

Oh God, how could he had been so monumentally stupid? Of course he didn't bloody exist, he'd been dead for the last one hundred and twenty years! The only kind of identification he had was the fake American passport he'd used to get him in to the country, the one that listed him as Adam Finn. Since he hadn't planned on getting involved with any human authorities he hadn't bothered with a new identity. He'd planned on disappearing amongst the crowd of the London demon world as soon as he got of the air plane.

But then he'd found out about Buffy and suddenly he was knees deep in a murder investigation. Suddenly he had to deal with the bloody police! And it seemed like the law officers they had here actually had something at least resembling brains, something the cops in good ol' Sunny D had been sorely lacking. And he'd been stupid enough to give them his _actual name!_

Of course they would check up on him, especially since the first thing he'd done had been assault a police officer. And of course they hadn't found anything, how could they have? William Sinclair had vanished of the face of the earth one evening in the fall of 1880, and the only one that would have missed him had been dust in the wind not even thirty six hours later. He was long dead and buried.

Dead, yes. Buried, not so much. At least not any more. The shy poet who had encountered death in form of a beautiful brunette in an ally besides a stable didn't resurface much any more, but he was still there, under the façade of Spike, William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, one quarter of the Scourge of Europe that he'd worked so hard over the last century to construct. The man that had never been closer to a policeman than across the street from one in his entire sad little life was suddenly the centre of attention.

What the hell was he going to say?

***

Ha! Busted!

Barnaby couldn't stop the childish exclamation from going through his head. The startled look in the eyes of the man across from him had vanished in a second, to be replaced by cold indifference once again. But it had been there, and he had seen it. The lighter the young man had been playing with clattered against the table, and William quickly scooped it up and put it in his pocket. He leaned back in his chair and an air of cocky arrogance settled over him, but Barnaby wasn't fooled.

He'd been rattled. He was now trying to compose himself, probably giving himself time to come up with a good answer. He settled back comfortably, his spirit lifted considerably. He couldn't wait to hear this!

"What? Do I look like a sodding ghost? I'm sitting right here, 'course I exist."

Playing stupid had worked for Spike in the past. Get your opponent to underestimate you, gives you the advantage. He settled a sneer on his face to complete the look, but ended up disappointed when the older man opposite him did little else but quirk a small smile.

"As I'm sure my sergeants rather sore jaw can attest to, you seem to be too solid to be a ghost. I was re referring to the lack of... shall we say paperwork, to help identify you. No birth certificate, no evidence of ever attending school, no form of employment, and of course no police record." the obvious attempt at riling him up had done nothing more than amuse him, Barnaby was starting to enjoy this!

Oh, buggerin' bleedin' fuck! Gotta think fast on this one. Buy some time!

"Huh. That's odd. You didn't find anything on me? Why not? " Ah, good one mate! Make him talk until you come up with something or you can make a run for it.

"You're asking for my theory on the matter?" the DCI smiled at the man in front of him. William shrugged, and answered with a seemingly indifferent 'Sure'.

"There are any number of possible explanations for your apparent non-existence, but all of them are highly unlikely, and I won't divulge any of my thought on the matter until I'm much more confident that my theories are correct. " In reality, he was at a loss on what to believe about this man. He had a theory involving SIS and international espionage, but that sounded to much like a cheap James Bond knock-off in his mind to be even remotely possible. And by giving a deliberately vague answer he hoped to force something out of William that he could work with, without giving him any ideas on how to answer.

Oh hell, Spike thought, that didn't work out so well. Maybe he ought to try a different approach.

He drew himself up so he sat straight in the chair and gave the policeman a look he had perfected over the years; his cold, steel blue eyes spoke of defiance, arrogance and superiority, and if Buffy had been there to see him, she would have been amazed just how much he really looked like a full-fledged master vampire in that moment, one of the four deadliest that had ever crossed the European continent. Barnaby saw a dangerous man who looked like he he had the confidence that he could beat any opponent in any battle, and suddenly the cheesy 'secret agent'-explanation didn't seem so far out there after all.

With a voice he knew used to struck fear in the most ferocious of demon hunters, Spike stated calmly;

"You don't know what you're getting in to here. Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to." 'Nice one', Spike thought to himself. 'Looks like there's still a trace of the Big Bad left in me somewhere.' He suppressed the urge to smirk.

The urge quickly disappeared by itself when he noticed that the older man didn't react at all to his intimidation-technique, but just sat there opposite him with the same expression on his face. He didn't even quirk an eyebrow. Spike clenched his jaw and stared right into his eyes, annoyed that the 'Big Bad'-approach seemed to have failed.

Barnaby was slightly impressed by the display, but refused to show it. It wasn't like no one had never tried the same trick on him before, but this young man was the best he'd seen yet. He almost could feel the hair at the back of his neck rise. Almost. It was far from the most frightening thing he'd ever witnessed, the man hadn't tried to stab him, strangle him or shoot at him after all. Not yet, anyway. Knowing his job, it was probably only a matter of time.

Spike, never known or his patience, had now completely run out of it, and he was still pissed that he hadn't had the cigarette he'd left Buffy's room for in the first place. He stood up without acknowledging the other man and fished the pack of cigarettes and his lighter out of his pocket.

"I have nothing to tell you." he stated shortly, and started to walk out of the room towards the entrance, but was forced to an halt when the doorway was blocked. When he saw who it was, he cursed under his breath and backed into the room again. And then, suddenly, he knew exactly what to do. Try as he might, he simply couldn't suppress the wicked grin that passed over his mouth. He turned back t the DCI.

"You know what? Maybe I do have something to tell you after all. Don't bother with checking up on me via the authorities, you won't find anything. But you can ask your contact higher up the ladder what they know about the Watchers council. Good luck with that, mate." he turned around to leave again, but not until he'd tossed a final barb towards the man that had entered a few seconds before.

"You wanna take it from here, Rupes? I'm sure the nice police officer would love to have a chat with you too." and with that he strode out of the room, leaving a fuming watcher and a slightly bewildered DCI behind him.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N; Mwhahahaaa! (That was my attempt at an evil laugh, for you that didn't get it.) _I updated! _A few days too late, granted, but I updated! You can thank my severe case of insomnia for this chapter (It's 03.49 where I am,) and even though my brain probably will run out of my ears soon, I finished the chapter, and I am now posting it!

Again, thanks LiZzin, you're a gem! Your reviews makes this soo worth it! Any other that wants to leave a review? Please do so! Comments, questions, threats? Lay it on me! Please?

(I have now checked the spelling, and fixed the misstakes. Please tell me if you find something I missed?)

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Finally he was able to lit up the goddamn cigarette! He thanked the weather gods for the timely rain-clouds that protected him from the deadly sunbeams. He stood just outside the front door, casually leaning against the wall, the out-jutting roof protecting him from the downpour. After the first drag of the cancer stick, his head fell back against the wall, his eyes closed and he sighed in bliss as the nicotine-filled smoke worked its way down his long dead lungs. His mind closed down completely.

He was totally unprepared for the light touch he suddenly felt on his upper left arm, and he jumped, startled, and managed to burn his hand on the flying embers of his cigarette. Explosive curses began to leave his mouth, but he managed to stop them abruptly when he saw who had disturbed him.

Buffy tried hard to suppress the totally inappropriate giggle that threatened to spill out of her mouth, but she couldn't hide the smile that bloomed on her lips at his reaction. Suddenly she felt like she had been transported back in time, and she was standing in restfield cemetery again, opposite a chipped, pre-soul, pre-love confessions Spike.

Oh God, she had really missed seeing him like this!

She had missed him, period.

Spike couldn't help but to feel a bit embarrassed, letting her sneak up on him like that, but he could really only blame himself after that total space-out. He tossed the cigarette on the ground and put it out with his boot before he turned towards her.

"You didn't have to do that. I mean... as long as you don't blow smoke in my face or something, I don't mind you smoking." Her eyes were focused on the ground as she said that, her arms crossed against her chest. How pathetic was it really that she suddenly felt like a schoolgirl again, talking to the guy she had a crush on?

He shrugged. "Know you don't like it, pet. 's no big deal." He frowned at her when he noticed how she was dressed. She was wearing a light blue rain coat with the hood down and her feet were actually donned in a pair of honest-to-god wellingtons! He'd thought she'd rather die than wear anything other than the most fashionable in footwear, and even though these rubber boots matched her raincoat perfectly with the same light blue colour and unreasonably cute white flowers decorating them, they were still... wellingtons.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, looking at her questioningly.

"I've been stuck indoors the entire day. I'm going stir crazy. Thought I'd just go for a walk. I'd call it patrolling, but according to Giles there hasn't been any demons around these parts for ages. There isn't anything to slay here."

"So you're going out alone?" He looked behind her, expecting Dawn to have followed her, when it occurred to him that she must have left the baby upstairs in her room. "What about the little one?" he asked, furrowing his brows.

"She's with Dawn and Rona. She was going to take a nap, and Dawn suggested I'd go out for a bit. She said I had that about-to-start-climbing-the-walls-look on my face." In reality, Dawn had nearly shoved her out the door as soon as Giles had left them to go downstairs. When Buffy had seemed reluctant to leave Heather, Dawn had promised her to go get Rona as extra slayer protection. After that Buffy hadn't argued any more. She really needed to get out of that room. It was beginning to feel claustrophobic.

Plus, as soon as Spike had left before, she'd had to call on every once of self control left in her not to run after him right away.

There was still a lot they needed to talk about.

Spike relaxed visibly when he heard that Heather was in good hands. Rona was a god slayer, if anything were to happen she would do anything to protect the little girl. And after he'd seen Dawn draw a knife from her ankle he had no doubts about her ability to defend herself.

"So the junior slayer is here too. That's good." he began rubbing his neck with one hand, suddenly a bit unsure of what he was going to do. What id she want him to do?

Thankfully she spoke up before he had the chance to ask her that.

"Do you wanna go with me? I just... there are still things we nee to talk about." her eyes were glued to her feet again, and she looked fidgety and uncomfortable. Spike tensed up. Yeah, they still had a lot of things to talk about, the most important things had not been mentioned at all in all the hours they'd sent together in her room earlier. They needed to talk.

And he was terrified of what she was going to say.

***

Barnaby eyed the man in front of him. He took notice of the well tailored tweed suit, the wire-rimmed glasses and the greying hair at the man's temples. Everything about him clearly said 'educated gentleman', but there was something else, just under the surface, that he had trouble identifying.

The DCI couldn't help but compare this older man to young William. There simply couldn't be two people more different from each other, and if this really were young Anne Sinclair's uncle, (and he wasn't too sure about that part; there were definitely something they weren't telling him,) he could understand why he would have opposed the relationship between her and William. The few seconds the two men had been in the same room had made it extremely clear that there was a firmly rooted animosity between them. And yet...

The thing that was simmering under the surface of the older man was getting harder and harder to figure out. There was something there, something in the way he carried himself, in the steely look in his eyes...

It was the same look he'd seen in the younger man's eyes. And then it hit him. These two men had at least one thing in common other than their devotion to Anne Sinclair.

Both William Sinclair and Rupert Giles were very dangerous men.

It took more than that realisation to intimidate him however. He had a job to do, and he was determined to do it. His gut was telling him that the key to unlocking at least part of this mystery lay with Anne Sinclair and these two men. William's words from before echoed in his mind, and he wanted at least some answers before this day was over.

"What can you tell me about the watchers council?"

Giles sighed. The thought in front of his mind at that moment was; 'I should have dusted Spike years ago.'

***

The rain hadn't stopped, but it had eased up a bit, transforming the fat raindrops to a much lighter drizzle. Buffy had pulled the hood of her raincoat over her head to protect her hair the best she could.

It had taken ten minutes of walking in silence for Spikes patience to snap completely. Suddenly he stopped, and it took Buffy a few steps to realize that he wasn't walking beside her anymore. She had to stop and turn around to face him.

"You said we needed to talk. So talk. This bloody silent treatment is driving me insane here!" his face was set in grim lines, and he talked through clenched teeth. He held his eyes locked with hers, his gaze never wavering.

When she still didn't say anything, he took a couple of steps forward, invading her private space. He didn't touch her, but he leaned his face forward until their noses were only inches apart. The hard look in his eyes softened when he saw fear in her eyes. Fuck! The last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid of him.

"Please talk to me kitten. I can't read your mind, though I really wish I could most of the time. Talk to me. Please." He hated the pleading note to his tone, but he needed her to say something!

He nearly took a step backwards when she closed her eyes and something that looked an awful lot like a single tear ran down her cheek. It could have been the rain, but...

"I... I don't know what to say." When she said that, her eyes snapped open again and her hazel locked with his blue. Her voice sounded stronger the next time she spoke; "Why don't you tell me what you want me to talk about. There is so much, I don't know where to start."

He just looked at her for a couple of minutes, then he straightened up and took a step back. He was preparing himself to ask the question that was always in the forefront of his mind, but at the same time was the question he most dreaded the answer to. "I want you to be completely honest with me. We... I can't do this if you're not. Can you promise me that?"

There was no hesitation whatsoever in her answer."I swear, Spike. Whatever you ask."

He closed his eyes and steeled himself before he asked the question. He looked up and looked straight in her eyes again, then he spoke, so low it was almost a whisper;

"Did you mean it?"

There was no point in pretending she didn't know what he was talking about. She knew all to well, because that night had replayed itself over and over again in her mind for the last 17 months.

When she came back after her second death, he had told her that he saw her jumping off that tower every night, and that he'd imagined himself doing something faster, more clever, to save her so she didn't have to die. Every night he saved her. And now she knew exactly what he'd meant.

Every night she saved him too.

And every night he believed her.

She stepped closer to him, until she was as close as he'd been to her before. She rested her hands on his shoulders and stared into his eyes. With a clear, strong voice that clearly showed she meat every word, she calmly stated;

"I love you, William. I love you, Spike. Just you. All of you. I did then, and I do now. I love you."

He blinked slowly. Then he blinked again. The next thing she knew, his arms had bounded like steel bands around her, crushing her to him, and he was kissing her breathless.

His brain had closed down when he'd heard her, refusing to process the enormity of what she'd told him. She loved him! Then and now, she loved him! Rendered speechless for once in his existence, he acted instead. He kissed her, hard and demanding at first, then he slowed down to a slow, sensual caress of her lips.

He had her now. She was his, really his, just as he'd been hers for such a long time. They were his, her and his little girl, and he would never let them be taken from him again.

***

Her eyes snapped open. A surge of power rippled through her, and she felt it. Had she been inclined towards self-doubt she would almost had have a hard time believing it was finally happening, but if there was something she didn't lack it was confidence in her abilities.

It came as no surprise then, only with a sense of pure elation she realised her wait was finally over! She had thought it would take months before all the strength she required for her endeavour had returned to her, but instead it had happened in just a couple of days.

Their power was weakening, and she was getting stronger.

It was time.

***

Paul Horner appeared in a swirl of black mist on the road outside the Bed and Breakfast. The broadsword, still coverer in bloodstains was tightly clenched in his right hand. He moved with sure steps, a man on a mission, towards the front doors of the building. When he saw the doors open and a man run out, a paper held over his head as protection from the rain, he halted, and waited.

When Barnaby had disappeared from his sight, he moved forward again, still clutching the sword. If anyone had seen him, they would have noticed that his eyes were rolled back into his skull, showing only the whites. But no one saw him.

He was coming for the child, and there was nothing, no one, that could stop him now.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N; I'm quick, aren't I? Yay me! Here's chapter 18, and this time you didn't have to wait very long.

Anybody recognise the character of Brenda Packard? If not, check out Midsomer Murders episode 67, 'Secrets and Spies'. I just had to use her, she was stuck in my head! Hope you don't mind.

And yes, I know I'm evil, but I wanted to drag the chase out a little longer. Don't kill me! Review please! Virtual chocolate to any that leave me a line on what you think. Thanks!

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It was very rare for Tom Barnaby to be home from work before six o'clock. It almost never happened. It wouldn't happen today either. He walked into the station with heavy steps, not particularly excited about the phone calls he'd had to make. Not that he had a choice in the matter any more.

The entire investigation had come to a complete standstill. No witnesses, no motive, no connection between the victims, (that he knew of anyway. Since he didn't know the identity of either of them it was hard to tell.) He had nothing to go on, except a feeling in his gut that the American woman and the two British men with her held the answers to most of his questions.

Problem was, he was beginning to run out of questions to ask.

The talk he'd had with the girls uncle, Rupert Giles had given him nothing except more confirmation that the older man disliked William Sinclair immensely. Nothing new there. What he'd found out about the mysterious watchers council told him absolutely nothing. It sounded like a mix between a club and a secret society, very exclusive and hush-hush. In fact, Rupert Giles had been anything but forthcoming, eluding his questions with expertise that made Barnaby's suspicions rise even higher. Had the man been trained in interrogation techniques? And so, he was back on the spy-train again.

Time to take the bull by the horns and call Brenda Packard. Hopefully the former hot-shot of MI6 would be able to shed some light over this murky business. With a barely visible grimace on his face that showed how much he did not want to enter this particular bullfight he sat down behind his desk and picked up the phone.

***

William the Bloody Awful Poet had come out of hiding completely and poems, verses and sonnets were spinning around and around in his head. Thankfully he was still able to keep his mouth shut (probably only because his lips were still attached to Buffy's), so in his head they stayed.

He felt elated, euphoric, effulgent! Well, no, not effulgent. God, that was an awful word! But he was happier now than he could ever remember bein, alive or undead!

Not only did he have Buffy, the woman he had craved, ached for the past four years, but she had given him something he had never thought he would have, a child of his own. Heather was his, that wonderful little girl that was currently in the caring hands of Dawn and Rona back in the BnB was of his own blood. She even looked like him!

His girls... bleedin' hell, they really were!

And Buffy loved him. Bloody amazing!

It finally hit him then. He had the woman he loved and a daughter he'd never thought he'd have. How the hell was he supposed to be a father? The only experience he'd had with children were... none, actually. Drusilla had occasionally dragged a toddler home when the mood struck her, but he'd never been able to stomach it, and had quietly disappeared to find an older prey whenever that had happened, so that he didn't have to deal with it. Thankfully that hadn't happened especially often. Now, with his soul screaming at his subconscious for retribution for every innocent that had met his or her fate at the hands of him or his insane sire, he was very grateful that children never had been part of his diet, even though he felt extremely guilty for not stopping Drusilla from feeding on them.

He was a father now, and the thought of anything happening to his daughter... it made both the soul and demon inside him cry out in outrage and grief. Until just now he hadn't completely understood what Buffy's revelation had truly meant. Sure, he'd heard what she'd said, and he had been chocked to say the least to hear that he'd been able to get her pregnant, but the full truth of it hadn't sunken into his brain until this moment, her second revelation to him today. Buffy loved him. She had given him a child.

When a dry sob escaped from him despite his efforts to quell it, Buffy broke the kiss and looked up in his eyes with concern written clearly in her features.

"Are you all right?" She asked him with a slight tremble to her voice. She hadn't recovered from his air-stealing kiss yet.

"Bloody brilliant, pet." His face broke out in a luminous smile, making him seem years younger and her breath hitched in her throat at the sight. "Bloody fucking brilliant."

She smiled back at him. "Lets go back", she said. "I'm drenched, and we can talk inside as well as outdoors. Plus, it seems like the sun might come out soon, and I'd rather not see you crumble to a big pile of dust."

He chuckled at that. " 'preciate the sentiment, I'd rather not become one." He smiled, and held out his hand. His grin widened when he felt her smaller hand settle against his palm and grip him tight. He couldn't remember ever holding her hand before, at least not since their faux engagement. Amazing that such a simple thing could make him so happy.

They turned around and walked back.

***

The petite woman with grey hair answered the phone on the fourth ring. She half expected it to be her daughter, or maybe one of the women of the garden society regarding the august fair flower arrangements, so when she recognised the male voice on the line she was definitely surprised.

"Tom! Goodness, it's been ages! How are you?"

"I would like to say everything is fine, Brenda, but truthfully I could use some help." Barnaby had learned a long time ago that the best way to handle this woman was with a straight on, no-nonsense approach. Trying to sugar coat the issue or avoiding a confrontation with her would have been useless. She was an expert on half-truths and outright lies. It had been her job, after all. Still might be, actually. Barnaby had a hunch that she wasn't as retired as she sad she was. Once in the service, always in the service. You didn't quit the SIS just like that.

The look on Brenda Packard's face had been amiable when she answered the phone, but that was now replaced by a calculating, almost suspicious look. "I'm guessing you're not calling on behalf of Joyce and the garden society, are you?" she sighed. She sat down in the armchair next to the telephone.

"No, I'm not, unfortunately." Barnaby pinched the bridge of his nose and settled back in his chair before he continued. "I suppose you've heard about the business over in Parva."

"The beheadings? Oh, yes. Dreadful thing. I suppose they ended up on your table. Well, I don't envy you, Tom. I always said you should have stuck it out with us instead of going to work for the police."

Barnaby smirked. "I couldn't have handled the bureaucracy and powerplay over there, Brenda, you know that."

"Still, it's a crying shame. But enough small talk now, Thomas. What was it you wanted?"

"I'm stuck, Brenda. I can't go any further with what I got." She could clearly hear his weary sigh on the other side of the line. "I've got two headless corpses without identity, no witnesses, no motive, and most importantly, no suspects. What I do have is an American girl with a shady past, her non-existent boyfriend and her uncle who appears to be trained in interrogation techniques."

"And why, exactly do you believe I can help you?" against her better judgement, she was intrigued. Life in her old age was beginning to go stale, and she needed something to spice her existence up little. It had been quiet on the MI6-front for a while now.

"I need to know if you have any information on two men and a mysterious organisation." He proceeded to tell her about William Sinclair's rather dramatic entrance in his investigation, and then waited for her chuckles to die down.

"Oh, your poor sergeant! He just stormed in and knocked him unconscious? Well, that image is just... priceless!" She sobered up quickly. "Although I'm not quite sure where I come in in all this."

"William Sinclair does not exist. There is no evidence he has ever been born. It's a rather sloppy job for a cover-up identity I must say. I was hoping you know anything you might want to share with me."

"You know as well as I do that there is very little I can do without clearance from upstairs. What I can tell you though is that the name doesn't ring a bell for me right now." A little bit disappointed she hadn't been able to help, she prodded on. "You said you had one more name, and an organisation you wanted to know more about. What organisation?"

"William Sinclair gave me the name of the organisation, though I got the impression he dropped it to me mostly to irritate the girls uncle. There is some bad blood between them. Ever heard of he watchers council?"

There was silence on the other end. "Brenda? You there?"

All the blood had drained from her face, and her mouth hung slightly open. There was a name she hadn't heard since her active days. The watchers council...

"Oh goodness Tom, what the hell have you stumbled onto now?"

"So you have heard of it then?" Barnaby leaned forwards in excitement. This was the first piece of good news he'd had all day! "What can you tell me?"

She sighed. She had to give him something... "Not a lot, Tom. I'm not sure exactly what they do, but I do know they hold a lot of power, even over the SIS. They have ties high up in the government, and not just our government. They are international."

The line went quiet again. "Brenda? Can you tell me something else?"

"No." Her tone was short, clipped, clearly stating that this topic no longer was open to discussion. Normally Barnaby would have poked and prodded until he got what he needed, but for now he let it be. He might need more of her help, and he didn't want to burn this bridge just yet.

"All right then." he relented and switched the topic. "What do you know about one Rupert Giles?"

She was surprised. It seemed Tom was deeper down in this mess than she'd originally thought. "How does he figure in this investigation?" she asked.

"He is Anne Sinclair's uncle."

She went quiet yet again, wondering exactly how much she could tell him. "He's..." she hesitated. "He's high up in the council. Don't know much more than that."

Barnaby sighed yet again, and felt like he'd run into a brick wall. There probably wasn't much more she could tell him right now, but he decided then and there he would contact her again, and then he wouldn't back down until he had some answers.

"Thank you, Brenda. Please contact me if you find anything on William Sinclair. I would be extremely grateful."

Brenda nodded, even though he couldn't see it. "If I learn something I can tell you, I will call. Just be careful, Tom. This might be big."

"Has that ever stopped me before?" he smiled.

"No, that's why I'm worried. Take care Tom. Give Joyce my regards."

They hung up, and Brenda settled back in her chair and closed her eyes. She hoped all of this didn't end with the DCI's blooddrained corpse lying in a ditch somewhere. She knew from experience that anything remotely connected to the watchers council always had something to do with vampires in the end.

***

Paul was walking slowly up the stairs. He'd had to get rid of the proprietor of the Bed and Breakfast before he could begin his search for the child, and so his sword was now dripping blood all over the floor and stairs. He'd lost some time, but it didn't matter. He knew where to go.

He stopped outside the door he knew hid his prize, and turned the handle. It was locked. He rammed the door with his shoulders, making it tremble on its hinges. Finally, after about ten attacks the lock broke, and the door swung open. He stumbled into the room.

The completely empty room.

***

Dawn jumped down from the window and landed slightly less gracefully than Rona had done. Thank God the room was only on the second floor! The young slayer had jumped out first, then she'd been able to take Heather when Dawn had passed her down to her.

They had been warned in time thanks to Ronas extremely good hearing and well tuned slayer sense. There was a reason she was regarded as one of the best slayers the council had. She had heard a soft 'thump' from downstairs, and something that sounded suspiciously like a gurgle. When her demon-sense then went 'completely ape-shit' (to quote her), she had made the decision that it was better to be safe than sorry and opted to flee out the window with the baby.

If something happened to Heather on her watch, she was never going to forgive herself.

And Buffy would probably mutilate her.

When Dawn was down, safe and sound, they took off towards the more populated area, running as fast as they could, hoping that a lot of people around would discourage the demon.

They were wrong.

Paul landed under the window on crouched legs. Within moments he had gathered his bearings and ran after the girls, not hampered in the least by the heavy weapon he carried. Nothing could stop him.

Nothing would stand between him and the child.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N; Hey, I'm back! I'm pretty happy about this chapter actually, and I hope you like it too. I screw up the time line again by making another reference to the episode 'shot at dawn' from season 11 of Midsomer Murders, but I figure that if you haven't complained before you're not likely to start now. Thank you, the two of you who reviewed chapter 18. You know who you are! I simply adore you, and I thank you on my bare knees for your kind word of encouragement. Comments, questions, complaints? Please leave them in a review, and I'll be forever thankful! :)

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They were ten feet from the front door when the haze that had settled over him since Buffy had told him she loved him disappeared. Something broke through the fog of his mind and startled him back to the present. The tantalizing smell of blood overwhelmed his senses, and he stopped cold in his tracks. A couple of years ago the pungent smell would have made him giddy with excitement, but now it filled him with stone-cold dread instead. He ran forward, through the doors, a bewildered and worried Buffy less then two steps behind him.

Ice-cold panic settled in her gut when she came to halt behind Spike just within the doors. There was blood on the floor, tracks of the sticky, red liquid leading to a big puddle of the stuff coming from behind the front desk. Her own blood left her face, leaving her paler than Spike, and without a word or a glance towards the pool of blood she rushed up the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her. Spike ran after her, panic overcoming him too. The feeling of complete dread only intensified when they saw that the door to Dawns room was hanging from its hinges. Buffy stopped, and Spike nearly collided with her. She was so afraid of what she would see when she looked in the room that she trembled! Wordlessly, Spike collected himself and took a deep, unneeded breath. He walked in front of her and looked into the room, silently praying to any deity that would listen that he wouldn't find a wounded Dawn or Heather in there.

A strange feeling of relief mixed with confusion and an almost overwhelming sense of fear filled him when he saw the room was empty. His daughter and Dawn weren't there.

So were were they?

***

The two girls ran as if the devil himself were at their heels, which wasn't that far from the truth. Dawn held Heather tight against her chest, concentrating fully on not dropping the child and not to stumble and fall. Rona was a couple of steps behind her, making sure not to overrun her with her slayer-induced speed, acting as a shield between the two without any extra strength and the thing that followed them. She hadn't seen exactly what it was, but her slayer-radar war making her crazy! She was itching all over, her body urging her to stop and fight instead of running away, but she knew she would have to look after Dawn and Heather, so she didn't listen to her inner slayer.

She had never run across something that made her feel like this, not even the 'übervamps' from the last battle of Sunnydale had her senses acting this hyper! Granted, she had only been a real slayer for the last twenty minutes or so of the fight, and for most of the time the adrenaline rush had won out over everything else, but she could still remember exactly when Willows spell had taken effect and her slayer-sense kicked into gear. The following year-and-a-half as a slayer had introduced her to a broad variety of demons, everything from vampires to groxlar-beasts, and she could feel every single one of them from a long distance, long before they came into visual contact, but nothing had felt as potent as this. This time, she was actually scared.

She risked looking behind her for a brief second, but she didn't see anything. Just as she turned her head forward again she collided with someone, and had to fight not to fall to the ground. The person she had run into was not so fortunate, and found himself sprawled on the ground. Without thinking twice Rona grasped his hand, dragged him up and sprinted after Dawn, and a confused sergeant Jones could do nothing but hang on for the ride.

***

The rain made it harder for him to track them, but the day spent with Heather in Buffy's room had forever imprinted the toddlers scent in him, and he used his nose to follow the faint trace of the three girls and the thing following them. The last confused him, it smelled human, but there was something else, something not quite demonic that he couldn't place. The only thing he could determine was that whatever it was that hunted his girls (and yes, he counted Rona as one of his, since she risked herself to protect Dawn and Heather), it sure as hell wasn't a vampire. It actually wasn't any kind of demon he recognised, and it ad him thoroughly confused.

There had been no words between him and Buffy, he had just started tracking them and she had followed, no questions asked. They had taken the same rout as the girls and their follower, and jumped out the window. Buffy had grabbed the only weapons she had, her old trusty stake and a wicked looking dagger, and she followed beside him with a closed off and determined look on her face.

On the inside she was so terrified she could hardly breathe. This was exactly why she had relocated to the countryside in the first place, to keep Heather safe. She had failed, and it hurt like hell. She was determined not to show her inner turmoil on her face however, and just focus on getting her daughter and sister back. She was relieved they had Rona with them, she was one of the best and the one of the new slayers she trusted the most. She would protect them with her life, but Buffy hoped with all that she was that it wouldn't come to that.

She had followed Spike without any reservations, trusting him without doubt. The look of cold fury that had settled on his face told her that he would hunt down and destroy anything that threatened the girls, making it as painful for the bastard as possible. It comforted her to know she wasn't the only one with homicidal thoughts when it came to something threatening her daughter. On the other hand, he was till a vampire, and it would have surprised her if he hadn't showed any bloodlust, even with a soul. God knew she wouldn't stop at mere dismemberment when she caught up with the monster that wanted to harm her family.

Spike suddenly stopped, and she looked up at him. He had a thoughtful expression on his face, and he cocked his head to the side as if listening to something.

"They met up with someone here." he offered as an explanation."Smells like the guy I socked in your room, the police." he hesitated for a moment. "I can't be sure, the rain makes it difficult to tell, but I think it's him."

"Which way did they go?" her voice was cold, her face grim. She just wanted to go forward, to find the girls and slay whatever was after them. She wasn't overly concerned about the policeman for the moment, though she was pretty sure she'd feel guilty about that later.

"Wait a moment, gotta get my bearings right." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his head still tilted in that peculiar way of his. Then suddenly his head snapped up, and he started running. She followed him, and within seconds she heard what had caught his attention.

Coming from straight ahead of them, there was the unmistakeable sound of fighting.

***

Jones was running faster than he could remember running since his school days, but he didn't know why. He surmised he had to be running _from _something, but he didn't know from what exactly. The young girl that had run in to him clutched his hand so tight he could almost hear the bones grind together and dragged him along. He didn't have any choice but to follow her as best as he could. In front of him he could see another girl running, and it looked like she clutched something to her chest, but since he saw her from behind he couldn't determine what.

Whatever they were running from was quickly gaining on them, and the girl in front of him faltered a little, making it obvious she was getting winded and that she wouldn't be able to run for much longer. The girl clutching his hand speeded up until she was running alongside the other girl, and for the firs time he could clearly see what she was carrying. She was carrying a child, and it was a child he recognised. It was Anne Sinclair's daughter!

Shock and confusion rushed through him, and he nearly came to an abrupt halt, but the expression he saw on the young girls face prompted him to run faster instead. She was absolutely terrified! Her face looked ashen, her lips pressed together in a thin line and her eyes were huge, reflecting exactly how scared she actually was. Whatever they were running from had her fleeing for her life with a baby, and suddenly he also felt scared. Pictures of decapitated bodies flashed before his inner sight, and he ran faster still. Perhaps he would be able so catch the murderer in the act this time, but he'd rather not. He'd like to live to see his next promotion.

The girl carrying heather faltered again, and this time she nearly stumbled and fell to the ground. The other girls quick reflexes saved her as she caught the stumbling girls arm in her free hand and prevented her from falling. The action forced them to stop, however, and for the first time Jones was able to determine exactly where he was.

They had stopped on the village green, just beside the war memorial where Lionel Hicks had exploded a car to cover up the murders he'd committed a year before. The nearest houses was not far away, but that didn't comfort him that much. The possibility of being chased by a maniac with a yen for decapitation didn't leave much room for comfort. Right now he really wished that British police officers were allowed to carry guns. Perhaps that would have made him feel marginally safer.

The poor girl carrying the baby was gasping for breath, and it looked like she wouldn't be able to take another step. He was feeling the effect of the sprint as well, and he clutched his side and panted. The other girl seemed remarkably unaffected by the run, and he was pretty impressed at how athletic she must be.

"Rona..." the other girl was gasping and fighting to get some oxygen into her lungs. "I... I can't run... anymore..."

The athletic girl (apparently called Rona) finally let go of his hand and turned around to look behind them. He followed her example in hope to finally see what (or who) he was fleeing from.

The vision made him reel back in shock.

He saw a young man running towards them, dressed in only a shirt and jeans, his clothes plastered to his body because of the rain. Hi looked about 25 years old, his hair was dark and he was wearing glasses. There war nothing remarkable about his appearance really, except perhaps for the broadsword he carried in his right hand. Despite the fact there was no sun out, it seemed to gleam.

It looked like he'd found the murderer. He only hoped he'd live to tell Barnaby about it.

Rona's face was grim with determination. She bent down and took out a dagger that apparently had been strapped to her leg under her baggy pants. Before Jones got his breath back enough to say anything she spoke, without taking her eyes from the man coming towards them.

"You run." she stated calmly. "I'll hold him of for as long as I can."

Without giving either of them a chance to say anything about it, she rushed towards the approaching figure with the dagger in a secure grip, preparing to attack him. Before Jones could stop her or even get a word out, the other girl had grasped the hand Rona had let go of and dragged him away from the scene, in a much slower pace than before but still in a dead run.

When Heathers parents arrived just seconds after Dawn had dragged the sergeant out of sight, and Rona was doing her very best to hold of the crazed swordsman. Without a thought, they both jumped into the fray, but not until Paul Horner had managed to skewer Rona through her stomach. She fell to the ground, the rain washing her blood from her damaged body.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N; Am I great, or what? That was a pretty quick update don't you think? I felt kinda bad for leaving you with a cliffhanger like that, so I worked extra hard to finish this chapter quickly. I hope you like it! Sarra Torrens and LizZin, you guys (sorry, girls) rock! You are my muses right now, thank you!

Leave a review and make my day! Plus, reviews make me update faster, neat huh? Everybody wins!

Here is chapter 20, enjoy!

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_Rona's face was grim with determination. She bent down and took out a dagger that apparently had been strapped to her leg under her baggy pants. Before Jones got his breath back enough to say anything she spoke, without taking her eyes from the man coming towards them._

"_You run." she stated calmly. "I'll hold him of for as long as I can."_

_Without giving either of them a chance to say anything about it, she rushed towards the approaching figure with the dagger in a secure grip, preparing to attack him. Before Jones could stop her or even get a word out, the other girl had grasped the hand Rona had let go of and dragged him away from the scene, in a much slower pace than before but still in a dead run._

_When Heathers parents arrived just seconds after Dawn had dragged the sergeant out of sight, Rona was doing her very best to hold of the crazed swordsman. Without a thought, they both jumped into the fray, but not until Paul Horner had managed to skewer Rona through her stomach. She fell to the ground, the rain washing her blood from her damaged body._

***

There were no thoughts, only action. They were built for this, created for the soul purpose of the fight. The slayer and her vampire threw themselves into the brawl as soon as they had laid eyes on the fighting pair. Nothing registered but the basic instincts of the born hunters.

_Hit! Hurt! Kill!_

Even though it had been over a year since they last fought together their bodies remembered their old dance well, and Buffy and Spike quickly fell into that comforting old routine they had created when they first realised realised they actually were fighting on the same side, when the chip in Spikes head had made it impossible for him to harm humans and forced him to take out his violent frustrations on the demon populace instead. When she ducked, he hit, when she punched high, he kicked low and when she missed, he was there to make the hit for her instead. They were a formidable pair, no matter if they fought with or against each other.

Although their opponent appeared to be fully human he was not making it easy for them to win. It was painfully obvious that he had some sort of supernatural aid, because he nearly matched them in speed and strength, not to mention he had the advantage of a sharp and very deadly weapon. Buffy registered that Rona had fallen, but she was too occupied with trying to avoid the sword her opponent wielded with unnerving expertise to be able to see if the younger slayer was still alive. Nothing mattered except for avoiding the sharp sword edge and to try and disable the enemy, and she didn't recognise who she was fighting at first. When she finally did, the shock nearly caused her demise.

'What the... _**Paul?!**_'

The thought appeared in her head and she froze for a fraction of a second, but that was enough time for the possessed watcher to take advantage of, and the sword arched towards her. Hadn't Spike been there the weapon would have pierced her lower abdomen, just underneath her navel, but he was there, and when he saw her falter and registered the intent in the crazed man's eyes he barrelled into the sword-wielding maniac and shoved him aside. Instead of making Buffy a slayer shish-kebab the sword just grazed her upper thigh, causing a painful but thankfully not deadly wound.

Both men hit the ground, but Paul was the first one to recover and make it up to his feet. The vampire was still on the ground, a very easy target for the broadsword's sharp edge. The watcher raised the weapon, preparing to take Spikes head of with one swift stroke...

And then his eyes rolled into his skull and he fell to the ground.

Buffy had recovered from her shock quickly, and as soon as she saw Spike and their opponent on the ground she had began searching the immediate area for a weapon on her own. Frustratingly enough, the ground seemed bereft of any handy rocks, thick branches or sharp objects she could have used as a weapon, but when her eyes fell on Ronas prone body she saw the dagger still clutched in the girls hand. It was almost as long as her forearm, and the handle was thick and heavy, made of metal encased in leather. She picked it up, noticing with an overwhelming sense of relief that the girl was still breathing. With lightning speed she rose to her feet and spun around just as Paul stood up as well and turned towards Spike with the intent of decapitating him. Before he could follow trough on that resolve she brought the dagger down n his head, heavy handle first, and he slumped unconscious on the ground.

Spike looked up and smiled at her, showing his gratitude. She smiled back for a brief second before turning back to Rona. She kneeled on the ground next to the still unconscious slayer and examined her wound with a critical eye.

"This is bad", she told Spike without looking back at him. "I'll stay with her and call an ambulance, you go get Dawn and Heather. He was the thing that was after them, right?"

"Yeah, that's him." Spike had risen to his feet and was now looking down at the man Buffy had knocked to the ground. "He reeks of the blood we found back in the house. You sure you want me to leave you here with him?" He looked at her with a questioning and worried look in his eyes.

"Does he look like he's about to wake up any time soon?" When that didn't ease the concern on his face she smiled at him. "We'll be fine. Go get Dawn and Heather, and that police-guy. Rona needs to get to the hospital." She had whipped out her cellphone from her pocket, the one that Giles had presented her with that very afternoon.

When he saw her begin to dial he just nodded shortly and took of after Dawn. He had seen a glimpse of her and the git she was with when they had run of, he knew which way they'd run. He would find them soon enough.

***

Jones had been on his way to his car when the two girls and the toddler had barrelled into him. He'd spent the entire day in Parva, talking to people and visiting the crime-scenes again. He was utterly exhausted and couldn't wait to get home, but of course his life didn't work that way. Instead he was being chased by the very person he assumed he'd been looking for, the murderer with a penchant for decapitation.

Jones finally got his mind together after a while, and he stopped dead in his tracks, halting the girl running at his side in the process. They were both panting and fighting for breath, and it took him a little while to be able to form understandable words.

"I... I need to... I need to get back there..." he took deep breaths between every word, making it very obvious that he was winded.

"No... No you... don't..." Dawn didn't sound much better. She was still holding on to Heather hard, and although the baby wasn't upset or scared from the mad rush, she did look a little nauseous from all the jostling around. Dawn put her head on her shoulder and rubber her back. "I... I know it doesn't... doesn't look like it, but Rona can... look after herself..."

Jones had finally regained control of his breathing. "That was the murderer back there! I can't just leave her behind with a sword-wielding psychopath!"

"And what are you going to do, huh? I'm pretty sure you don't have any weapons on you, and what good would you do in a fight against a 'sword-wielding psychopath' anyway?" Dawn snipped. She was worn out and pretty wigged, and she didn't feel like playing nice with a stranger they just ran into while fleeing from a demon possessed murderer with a wicked-looking sword.

Jones went quiet at that. He didn't like it, but she was right. He couldn't do anything by himself, which was why he picked up his phone to call for backup. Before he could push the first button however, a shout was heard and the girl reacted in such a way that there was no doubt she knew whoever the owner of the voice was.

"Dawn!"

"Spike!" she screamed back in such a high-pitched voice Jones had to cringe and the toddler in her arms made a grimace and started crying.

Jones saw a man running towards them, and it didn't take him many seconds to identify him as the man who had punched him that morning, the father of the child in the girls arms. He groaned.

Spike ignored him completely and rushed up to Dawn and Heather. He frantically looked them over, searching for any visible injuries despite the fact he couldn't smell any blood from either of them.

"Are you allright nibblet? How's the little one?" he asked hurriedly with a hint of a frantic note to his voice. He took the baby from Dawn without a second thought, and she quickly calmed in his arms.

"We're fine Spike. We're fine, but Rona..."

"She got hit, but big sis' is with her. She called the ambulance."

"The freak with the sword..."

"Down for the count. She hit him hard, right on the noggin. She sent me to get you and Heather." He rocked the child, cooing quietly at her, and she looked at him with huge eyes, fascinated by the strange man holding her.

Jones listened in on their conversation, cellphone temporarily forgotten in his hand. He was getting more and more confused by the second, and with confusion came irritation. Finally he just couldn't take it anymore.

"What the hell is going on?!" He shouted the question, and was satisfied to see the other man start a little. Clearly he'd forgotten he was there.

Spike cursed under his breath. He actually _had_ forgotten he was there, and that was the kind of amateurish mistake he'd grown out of over a century ago, or at least he'd thought so.

"The Bedlam-reject with the sword is unconscious. Me and Buffy got him when you and the girls had split the scene."

Jones stared at him. "Who the hell is Buffy?!"

***

Buffy stared at the body of the man she'd thought she knew. All right, not that she'd been best friends with him or anything, but she'd talked to him a couple of times, seen him around and he'd been really good with Heather. In fact, he'd been the one to save the little girl from the still unknown skinless demon, the very attack that had forced her to move out here in the first place...

God, how dumb was she?

He'd wanted her out here. Why, she didn't know. Maybe there were some unknown hellmouth nearby. It wouldn't surprise her.

Something Giles had said about Heather after the first 'attack' came back to her then. "_Buffy, her blood must be extremely potent. It could possibly be used for a variety of different rituals or spells, and need I say that not one of them would have a positive outcome_." Had Paul been planning to bleed her child? And why, was he trying to raise some demon-god, take over the world or something? Her vision clouded by her sudden flash of fury. He wouldn't live to see another sunrise if he ever tried to harm a hair on Heathers head.

A small part of her that was capable of rational thought recognised she couldn't kill him right away. They needed to question him first, see if there were more people (or demons) in on this. They needed to find out what kind of threat they were up against, and to find that out they needed Paul Horner alive, at least for the time being.

That didn't mean she had to like it.

In the mean time, she entertained herself with imagining exactly how they were going to get him to talk. She also amused herself by picturing Spikes reaction to the fact that someone was after his daughter. She imagined an explosion of Chernobyl proportions.

Paul let out a small grunt and stirred. She hit him again, right behind his left ear, and he slumped back into oblivion. She settled again and stroked Ronas brow. She really hoped the ambulance would arrive soon.


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N; _Finally! It's done! Not the fic, but this chapter! Damn, that was hard to write! And this time I can't even blame a lack of reviews, since I've gotten such wonderful response from all you people! All I can say is that my other, less exciting life demanded my attention, and I couldn't find the time or energy to write. I'm so, so sorry! Please forgive me?

This may also be the shortest chapter yet, but it is over the 2000-word limit I put up on myself, I promise. I'll try to hurry up with chapter 22, but this time I can't make any promises... Real Life is a Bitch right now.

Lizzin, my darling, I hope you are still with me. To my most loyal reviewer, this chapter is for you. Again_._

* * *

"_What the hell is going on?!" Jones shouted the question, and was satisfied to see the other man start a little. Clearly he'd forgotten he was there. _

_Spike cursed under his breath. __He actually had forgotten he was there, and that was the kind of amateurish mistake he'd grown out of over a century ago, or at least he'd thought so. _

"_The Bedlam-reject with the sword is unconscious. Me and Buffy got him when you and the girls had split the scene."_

_Jones stared at him. "Who the hell is Buffy?!"_

_***_

Fuck!

Amateurish mistake number two; shot Buffy's cover identity to hell. What was wrong with him today?

"Buffy is Anne. Anne is Buffy. It's a... nickname." he tried to cover his slip-up, hoping that the policeman was too shocked and tired to delve into it further.

He was half right. Jones was very aware that he'd just got fed a half-lie, but right now he was more concerned with the sword-wielding murderer he'd just fled from. He filed the name 'Buffy' under 'things to investigate further' in the file-cabinet in his head and decided he would ask the lady herself about it when he saw her next. Speaking of whom...

"Where is she? Why isn't she with you?" he paled visibly when he finally connected the dots and the implication of Spikes earlier statement sunk in. "Did you leave her back there with _him?_"

"Believe me, Anne can take care of herself. If he wakes up she'll just put him out again." There was more bravado in Spikes voice than he actually felt. He wasn't at all comfortable with leaving Buffy behind with the psycho, but she'd told him to go get Dawn and Heather, and he couldn't say no to her. Besides, she actually _could _take care of herself, he knew that better then anyone.

"You're telling me you left her back there with the guy that left a decapitated body in her garden, alone with an injured girl??" Jones turned on his heel and started jogging back the way he'd come from at the same time as he started dialling his phone again to request backup. He didn't spare a glance behind him when he hurried away.

Spike sighed and reluctantly handed Heather over to Dawn again. "Do you have your cell on you, nib?" he asked her, and was relieved when she nodded. "Good, then call the watcher and tell him what happened. I'm going back to Buffy. I really don't want you or Heather anywhere near the loon with the sword, but for now you'd better stick close to me in case he's not working alone, okay? Get Giles to pick you up as soon as possible." She nodded again and he smiled at her. She fished her cellphone out of her pocket and managed to call Giles while she and Spike hurried after the policeman to get back to Buffy and poor Rona.

***

When Jones at last got a glimpse of the blonde woman he'd been looking for in the distance the ambulance was already there and just about to lift the injured girl onto the stretcher. There was another body on the ground, that of a man. The man responsible for the state of the unconscious woman currently being lifted into the ambulance.

Anne was hovering over the prone form on the ground while one of the paramedics checked him over. She divided her attention between the fallen man and the girl. The sword war nowhere in sight, a fact that both unnerved him and filled him with relief. He'd made his phone call already, so now he walked cautiously towards the blonde woman and the ambulance.

Spike and Dawn arrived just then, having hurried after the frazzled Jones. Spike had been anxious to get back to Buffy, to see if she really was all right after leaving her with the, albeit unconscious, homicidal maniac. Seeing that she indeed was okay and that the man they'd fought was still out for the count he heaved a sigh of relief and stopped in his tracks. He turned towards Dawn and told her to stay put and in his line of sight. When she nodded he turned again and hurried towards Buffy.

Buffy smiled at him when he came towards her, but he could see how troubled she was by looking into her eyes. Before he could ask her about it she answered his unspoken question.

"I know him, Spike." she said and indicated the man on the ground. "His name is Paul Horner, and he works for the council. He's a watcher, Spike."

The way she said his name, twice, told him she was really shaken by this, and he could do little more than offering her comfort by taking her in his arms. She allowed him to hold her for a few precious seconds before she disentangled herself. She gave him a smile so she wouldn't hurt his feelings, then she started looking around for Dawn and Heather. When she spotted them she asked Spike to stay and watch over Paul while she went over to her sister and daughter. She only managed a few steps in their direction before she was stopped by sergeant Jones.

"What happened?" The question was clipped and his voice was terse. In that moment she felt really sorry for him.

"Look...." She softly touched his arm and her voice was laced with sympathy. "Just let me get my daughter and my sister, then when your boss comes here I promise I'll answer any questions you've got the best I can. Okay?"

The sincere look on her face made his shoulders slump a little. "You're not leaving my sight until then, neither you or William. Is that clear?"

"Sure, all right. Just... let me get to my baby now." It wasn't a request, and it didn't even cross his mind to stop her. She walked around him, and hurried towards Dawn and Heather. Jones continued straight ahead towards Spike and the fallen swordsman. The one thought in his head at that moment was; 'huh... I really didn't think it would take less than three days to solve these murders'.

Something felt very wrong.

***

Time flew by, and before anyone could really register exactly what had happened, six people were sitting in a hospital waiting room, all of them worried and wary of each other.

Rona was in surgery, and the swordsman had still not woken up, something Buffy was shamefully proud of. When she knocked someone out, they sure stayed out. She only hoped she hadn't caused any major brain injury. He needed to be somewhat lucid when they questioned him.

Giles was in shock. He couldn't believe it was Paul that had attacked Rona, that the young watcher he'd seriously considered to be his successor in the council was the homicidal maniac that had left two headless and one mutilated corpse in his wake. If he hadn't seen the poor Bed and Breakfast owner with his own eyes he would have been in complete denial, but he had seen the poor woman. Paul had sliced her vertically from throat to navel, and all the parts of her that should have been hidden from view were spilled on the floor instead. There had been guts and blood everywhere.

Giles had been at the scene less than eight minutes after Dawn had called him, and he had followed the ambulance to the hospital with Dawn, Heather and Spike as passengers. Buffy had volunteered to go with Rona, so they had met up with her in the waiting room.

It ad taken some persuasion to make Jones agree too let Buffy ride in the ambulance, since he'd clearly told her not to get out of his sight. Giles had stepped in and a reluctant Jones had called Barnaby and asked him to meet them at the hospital, which he had agreed to do.

So now, here they were; Spike, Buffy, Dawn, Giles and Jones. Heather was perched on Buffy's lap. There were also two uniformed policemen in the waiting room, and yet another two in Paul's room, waiting for him to wake up. Jones was waiting for Barnaby to arrive, itching to get some answers from the quiet people around him. E had trouble sitting still, his hands fidgeting in his lap and his eyes darting around the room.

When Tom Barnaby so finally entered the waiting room he was met with more or less discreet groans from all but Jones, who heaved a relieved sigh.

***

When Barnaby had gotten the call, he'd first been to floored to think straight. Ten minutes ago he'd been desperate for any new development in this case, and even slumped so low as to call Brenda Packard for help. Then Jones calls him and tells him he's got the killer in the hospital, out of the blue, just like that. The most perplexing and infuriating case he'd had in recent memory had been solved far too easily.

Something wasn't right here.

He'd been at home when he'd heard the news, and to his wife's resigned disappointment he had run out in the middle of dinner (yet again!) and hurried towards the hospital, making phone calls to his colleagues from the car. He became more and more confused by the minute.

Of course he heard the groans the minute he entered the waiting room, but he didn't acknowledge them as he turned directly towards Jones, who'd actually been there when the perpetrator had been caught, and he was the only one he could count on to tell him the entire truth.

Giles witnessed the encounter between the DCI and the sergeant, and sighed to himself when they disappeared into an adjoining room for some privacy. He had run out of options. When he had the chance to speak to Barnaby again, he would have to tell him the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He could only hope the policeman would have an open mind when it came to vampires, demons and the forces of darkness. And he really, really didn't want to, but he had a uncomfortable feeling that he would have to accept help from Spike... it would probably require a demonstration to make the poor man believe in the unbelievable.

***

Of course she was annoyed that her handy puppet had failed in his attempt to apprehend the child, but it really wasn't that bad. If you fail once, try and try again, simple as that. There was still time. Unfortunately, the closest person she had the power to control were currently residing in London, and she would need at least a couple of days to build up to the amount of control she would need to make the new tool to do her bidding. But no matter. She was so close now that she could taste her freedom, and nothing would be allowed to come in her way.

It didn't matter what happened to the watcher from now on. They could throw him an a dungeon to rot for all she cared. He was guilty of murder after all, she thought with what would have been a wicked smirk, if she'd in fact had been in possession of a mouth to smirk with at the moment. Time to start working on that.

The person she had chosen to be her next servant was fortunately currently sleeping, and it was the work of moments to establish her essence within the unconscious mind. As was the matter with Paul before her, the poor girl would have absolutely no memory of her actions while she was steered by the invading power.

Two days. She would need two days, and then she would strike again. And this time, nothing would go wrong. This time, she wouldn't be as clumsy or ill prepared.

This time, she would have a plan of action.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N; I am so sorry for the delay people!

I really thought I would be able to update this before Christmas, and definitely before the new year, but it was simply impossible! I did my best, I really, really did, but I just didn't have the time!

Real life's still a bitch.

This fic is not abandoned however, I promise you! Just know that the updates will be few and far between from now on. I'll try to do better, I promise! A thousand apologies, again.

Did I mention I adore you people? *Blinks with pleading eyes...:'(*

* * *

"What the hell happened?"

Barnaby asked the question, and within moments the whole incredible story had spilled from Jones lips. When he was done his superior just stood there and stared at him, as if wondering what kind of drugs he had inhaled, injected or snorted to conjure up such a fantasy. In the end, the only thing Barnaby could think to say was;

"What?!"

And so Jones had to repeat himself.

When he had finished the second time his boss still looked like he thought the story was something taken directly from a badly written Agatha Christie- knock off, but he didn't ask again. Instead he sighed, closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He rubbed his eyes, presenting Jones with the picture-perfect image of complete confusion and utter tiredness.

"I have never experienced a case in which I have more questions after the murderer is caught than I had even before we had a suspect." he said, his shoulders slumping. "It's not that I doubt your word, but..."

"I know, sir. Believe me, I know, but I swear that what I told you is exactly what happened, at least as far as I saw it. And I was there sir. I wouldn't have believed it otherwise. I barely trust my own statement as it is."

Barnaby wearily stood up. "I need to talk to someone out there. I don't care who I start with, I'm going to question them all. Thoroughly. See too that none of them leave, Jones. Not until after I've been satisfied with answers to my many, many questions."

"Perhaps I can help you with that," a voice sounded from behind them. "A word if you please, mister Barnaby?"

The DCI turned towards the man standing in the doorway. "Mister Giles. I trust you'll be a bit more forthcoming with your answers this time around?"

Giles looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face that even Barnaby's trained senses couldn't decipher. "This time I promise you full disclosure," he said, took off his glasses and started cleaning them, "but I can also almost guarantee you won't find the things you'll hear... satisfactory in regards too your inquest." He looked up, staring straight into Barnaby's eyes. "Frankly, mister Barnaby, I don't think you'll believe a bloody word I tell you."

Intrigued against his will, Barnaby stared back at him. "I'll be the judge of that, mister Giles," he said, and gestured for him to sit down. It was time to hear the man out.

***

The people in the waiting room were all antsy. They knew what Giles were going to do in there, and none of them were keen on the idea. They had never before found themselves in a situation in which they had been forced to _trust_ the police! The long arm of the law had always been represented by incompetent morons or corrupt scumbags working for the highest bidder. Sadly enough the highest bidder tended to be the most evil one. Working for the forces of good generally didn't pay well.

They still hadn't heard from the doctor about Rona. No one knew if she was going to be allright. Spike was holding Buffy's hand in support, and she was clinging to it as if it were a lifeline, but that was the only sign of distress she allowed herself to show. Her face was set in a mask of determination, as if there was no option other than Rona's full recovery. She wouldn't allow it to end any other way.

Dawn was chewing on her lip, looking decidedly more worried than her older sister, but she too managed too look braver than she actually was. Even Heather looked concerned, even though she was far too young to comprehend what was going on. She picked up and mirrored the grown-ups emotions, a talent she'd had since she was born.

Spike, never the most patient of people had problems remaining still. His legs were vibrating and his fingers on the hand not holding Buffy's were tapping an anxious staccato-rhythm on his thigh. He wouldn't be able to sit and do nothing much longer.

"I'm going to help the watcher explain to the fuzz," he said, and stood up suddenly. "he might need some... visual aids."

Buffy opened her mouth to stop him, but it was more a reflex than anything else. She gave herself some time to think about it, then closed her mouth and gave him a mute nod of acceptance instead. He gave her a small, grateful smile and quickly disappeared in the direction Giles had went off in before.

***

Giles had just settled down in one of the two chairs the small room had to offer, opposite the two men whose view of the world he was about to change forever. He studied them carefully. Where to start with such a incredible tale?

Well, he thought, there is no place like the beginning.

"Unto every generation a slayer is born", he said, "The one girl in all the world destined to..." and there he was interrupted by the door swinging open and Spike stepping into the room. He just sighed wearily. He didn't even have the energy to get annoyed with the obnoxious vampire.

Barnaby and Jones trained their eyes on the figure imposing on their interrogation. Barnabys eyes narrowed when e looked the mysterious mister Sinclair up and down. This was one of the most infuriating pieces of the puzzle he was trying to solve. Where did the man that didn't exist fit in to all this?

Before he could say anything Giles addressed the intruder.

"What do you want, Spike?"

Spike gave him a smile that he knew for sure would irritate the watcher to the limit. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, a picture of lazy nonchalance. "I just thought you'd want some help with explaining things to these fine gentlemen," he said, tossing a smirk in the policemen's direction, "You know, 'seeing is believing' and all that."

Barnaby frowned. "You have something you wish us to see?"

Giles contemplated his options for a brief moment, then nodded towards Spike. "That's actually not a bad idea. It would give my words some much needed creditability." At the confused looks Jones and Barnaby sent him he said, "I did tell you you probably wouldn't believe anything of what I'm about to tell you."

"Indeed you did", Barnaby conceded. "Please, go on."

"Spike, let me talk to them first before you give your... presentation, allright?" Giles said. Spike nodded, for once looking serious. They needed the two men to hear them out first. He was only there as a source of confirmation.

"Right, so, where was I? Oh yes. Unto every generation a slayer is born..."

***

Paul stirred in the bed and the policemen assigned to guard him stiffened. When he failed to open his eyes within the next few minutes they marginally relaxed, but never took their eyes of the murdering mad-man in the hospital bed. To decapitate people with a broadsword! This guy had clearly played one video game too many!

He stirred again, and this time he opened his eyes. He didn't acknowledge the other people in the room, he didn't even look at them. His eyes were totally blank. He just stared at the ceiling, barely even blinking. One of the policemen stepped out in the hallway to notify the hospital staff as well as his superiors that the murderer was awake.

***

Barnaby had studied the faces of the two men carefully the entire time during the older man's speech. Not a muscle had twitched, nothing showed in their expressions other the serious honesty. The only conclusion he could come up with was that they were mad men, the both of them. Ramblings about vampires and demons...my God! Certified Bedlam runaways to be sure!

The mysterious mister Sinclair had yet to say a word, and had not shown the his 'visual aids' as of yet. He was looking forward to that one. He was imagining a blurry photo or something like that, something hardly even worthy of the seediest of tabloids.

"... so the amulet closed up the hellmouth, evidently dusting Spike in the process. His demise wasn't permanent however, as you can clearly see." Giles nodded in Spikes direction. Barnaby snorted inwardly. Oh yes, mister Sinclair thought he was a vampire. Brilliant. When did he sign up for this?

Spike, on his side of the room had had enough of Giles' long winding explanations so he decided to sod the promise to keep quiet and interrupt the watcher.

"So a few months later someone activates the soddin' amulet and I end up in a law firm in LA. Long story very, very short, after about a year I decide to relocate myself and move back to the motherland, where of course I run in to a bunch of slayers and they all find out I'm back from the great beyond. I find out Buffy's been involved in a murder investigation, I seek her out, and now we're here. End of bloody story." he turned to Giles. "Sorry to interrupt, but you were taking for bloody ever!"

Giles sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I really didn't expect anything else from you, Spike. But you're right, that was a rather long speech." he gave a wry smile in the direction of the policemen. "Please forgive me gentlemen, but I am not accustomed to explaining these things to people completely in the dark. When we talk to the new slayers they usually have already noticed some of the darker sides of the world, and we tent to recruit watchers from families that have been involved with the council before."

Jones opened his mouth to say something, but Giles held up his hand to silence him. I know what you're thinking right now, believe me, but before you make the call to have us both committed and dragged away to the nearest 'loony bin'..." he smirked at his use of the Americanism (Xander must have rubbed of on him), "... You might want to see this. Spike?"

Spike gave them a feral grin. This was the fun part!

He shifted to game face.

The chair Barnaby had occupied tilted over and fell to the floor when he jumped out of it. There was a gasp from Jones, who rapidly scrambled backwards until his back was pressed against the wall. The older policeman's hand found his way under his jacket to where a shoulder holster would have been, had he in fact been armed. 'Bloody gun laws!' he managed to think, rather irrationally cursing for the first time in his career that the British police weren't allowed to carry weapons.

Giles slowly rose from his chair and held both his hands up in a calming gesture. Spikes game-face melted away, once again revealing his handsome human features. He smirked at them, and the annoying little smile managed to ease Barnaby's fear and fuel his irritation instead.

"Calm down, it's all right. He won't harm you in any way."

"I really won't," Spike chipped in, "the bloody soul wouldn't allow it."

"_What the hell was that?!_" Jones shouted in a loud enough voice to ensure that everyone in the adjoining rooms heard him.

"That was me proving to you that all the watcher was telling you was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but," Spike said, still with a grin on his lips. "How did you like my fangs?"

The policemen didn't get the chance to answer, because the door suddenly burst open to revile a flushed Dawn.

"Guys, you'd better come out here. That freak is awake."

Spike was out the door almost before she was through speaking, but Giles was halted by a firm grip on his upper arm. He turned and looked into DCI Tom Barnaby's rather pale but fiercely determined face.

"We are not done here, mister Giles. We've barely even started!"

"I have no doubt", Giles answered calmly, and with a nod of grudging acceptance the DCI let him go. For the time being.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N; Rumours about my early demise have been greatly exaggerated. It's just been hard to find any time to write, for a number of reasons. For those who are interested, a list follows below;

My life the past six months;

Lost my job

Got a new job

Got dumped by my boyfriend (after three years)

Went to Morocco

Got stuck in Morocco because a bloody volcano in Iceland decided that this would be a good time to explode.

Took a bus from Greece back home (toured 10 countries in three days. Belgrade is really pretty at night... Or I'm sure it would have been, if I had in fact seen any of it!)

Got a promotion (Which means more work, less writing...)

Any way, enough of my ramblings. Here is chapter 23. It's not exactly action packed, but I promise to do better next time.

Hope you're still with me!

(Warning! This may contain spelling mistakes. And nuts.)

"I really can't tell you what's wrong with him", the doctor told Barnaby about fifteen minutes after he had been notified that the suspect swordsman was awake. "He's entirely unresponsive to any form of stimulation, he doesn't react to sounds, sights, smells or pain. I have no idea why, though. I can't see any serious damage to his head, other than a few bumps. It's like someone just flipped a switch and... shut him off. He's clearly awake though. We know, because when he dozes off, he seems to be dreaming. Rather violent dreams, I'd say. " He referred to the thrashing, moaning and pleading mister Horner began as soon as his eyelids fell closed. The pitiful sounds had made even the most hardened of the policemen cringe, and they would have felt sorry for him if not for the fact that the dreaming man in the hospital bed had beheaded at least two people with a sword.

The young doctor looked so bewildered and lost that the DCI felt a large twinge of sympathy for him. He was however not the only one confused by the current situation. Barnaby himself couldn't remember any time in which he'd been more rattled.

A tall tale of vampires, demons, and girls with superpowers had been spun to him. There was no way he was going to believe any of that! He was a rational, level-headed and above all realistic man, and such things as vampires, ghosts or witches did not exist, of that he was absolutely sure!

And yet...

It was hard not to take mister Giles seriously when he talked about it, the middle-aged gentleman with his glasses and a tweed jacket that clearly had seen better days had sounded completely calm as he'd related his bizarre tales to Barnaby and Jones. And when Sinclair had walked into the room and changed... He could have sworn the young man's clear blue eyes had turned yellow!

His musings was brutally cut short when he spotted a familiar figure at the end of the corridor. Brenda Packard was walking towards him, albeit rather slowly because of her age. Her face was closed and unreadable, but he could recognize the unmistakable twinkle in her eyes that meant she'd stumbled on a case she found utterly fascinating. He shuddered involuntarily. The cases Brenda favoured was always the most gory, violent and unusual ones.

She had finally sidled up to him, and now he noticed the plain brown paper envelope she clutched to her chest. She grabbed his elbow with her free hand and began pulling him along in search for an empty room.

"I heard you got the swordsman." Her tone was clipped and short, but he could hear the excited, almost giddy tone to her voice she tried to hide. "I've got some information for you."

"On Paul Horner?"

She stopped and frowned at him, looking slightly bewildered. "Who?"

Barnaby quirked an eyebrow at her. "The decapitating swordsman?"

Now she looked even more bewildered. "The swordsman's name is Paul Horner? But I thought... When you mentioned William Sinclair to me I pulled some strings to get the information on him, and after I read it I assumed he was the perpetrator. He wasn't called William the Bloody for nothing, you know."

Now Barnaby's eyebrows hit his hairline. "William the bloody?"

She sighed and began to pull him along again. "Come on. I'll fill you in on everything."

Barnaby followed, somewhat reluctantly but extremely curious about the prospect of finding out more about the mysterious William Sinclair.

William the bloody...

Emma woke up in a room she didn't recognize and with a violent hang-over she couldn't remember bringing upon herself. Not that this was an unusual occurrence for her. It usually happened about every third weekend. This time, however, something was not quite as it used to be.

She was apparently on a train.

That had never happened before. Usually when she woke up after a night out she'd be laying in a strange bed with a strange man. She'd never hopped on a train before. Now taxis, on the other hand was a completely different matter. When she became to much of a handful her friends usually put her in one and got it to drive her home.

She could feel her eyes starting to drift close, and her last thought before passing into oblivion was that she'd better get of at he next station...

Emma was a girl that enjoyed life. Thoroughly. "Live hard, die young, become a beautiful corpse" would have been her motto, had she ever stopped to consider her lifestyle long enough to put a label on it. That was the problem really; she never thought. She just did. If it seemed a good idea at the time, she jumped right at it. Men, jobs, drinks, drugs...

At the age of twenty four she'd already developed a liver that would have been more fitting a 60-year old alcoholic, lungs that should have belonged to a coal-miner from the seventeenth century and eating disorders a super model would be envious of. On the other hand, she didn't look like she was on the verge of death. Oddly enough she had a healthy, glowing complexion, long, shining auburn hair and a figure most women would give their right arm to have and most men would give their left arm to posses, if so only for one night. Her almost constantly smiling face was equally attractive, her mouth only slightly to broad and her nose just a little bit too big for that perfect, symmetrical appearance. The constantly vacant look in her eyes made the prowling men (and some women) hopeful that she was easy prey, sufficiently low on the IQ-scale to be easily persuaded to take the conversation 'somewhere more private.' And for the most time they were right. Only lately, something about Emma had changed...

She had prepared all her potential puppets months before she had decided to take up temporal residence in the mind of Paul Horner. Her thorough pre-work had ensured that it took her only a minimal amount of effort to completely overrun Emma Stevenson's psyche and take control of her body. It didn't hurt that the girl was thick as a yard of lard...

The people around her victims would have notices slight changes in their behaviour. They would have become more reclusive and withdrawn, quieter and more unaware of the world around hem as she bit for bit corroded their minds to give herself room in there. She always kept their more basic personality traits as not to make the people around them too suspicious.

So far, no one had noticed anything. Of course, almost everyone who would have noticed was long since dead. There was no one left who knew what she was.

She was just about to change that.

The file she gave him was thick. The first thing he saw when he opened it was an old photograph, yellow with age. It was a picture of a young man standing behind a chair on which an older woman sat. Their clothes dated the photo to the end of the nineteenth century.

The young man looked no older than perhaps twenty five, the woman could have been around fifty. Mother and son, perhaps? The man had a head full of unruly locks, slightly too long to suit him, and he was wearing round glasses. Even though his appearance definitely had changed, Barnaby recognised the image of William Sinclair straight away. There was no mistaking those cheekbones.

That was the only photo of him in the file. On the other hand, there was a lot of documents, detailing in rather dry and bureaucratic wording 'William the Bloody's' whereabouts and dealings between 1880 and 1949. there were some gaps in the time line, but never more than two or three years. After 1949 however, he seemed to have disappeared, only to resurface again in New York in 1977 where he'd apparently been responsible for the death of a slayer. After that there was noting until 1996, when the report said he'd been sighted in Prague along with his sire. Then there was nothing again. Apparently he had disappeared off the face of the earth for about a decade before he turned up in Midsomer, apparently completely reformed and repeating his past crimes.

He had a hard time connecting the face of the man he'd met to the monster described in the file in his hand. It couldn't be. He would have be over 150 years old if it was true. The handsome features of William showed a man no older than 25.

But his eyes had looked old. World-weary and dead tired. Barnaby had seen that look before. He'd met a lot of people with their pasts shrouded in darkness, but only the ones who'd managed to pick themselves up and step out into the light on the other side got that look in their eyes. That look that showed shame and remorse.

From what he'd read in the file, Barnaby wasn't sure all the regret in the world would be enough for salvation in William the Bloody's case.

After getting the news that the swordsman had awakened, but been told that they were in no circumstances allowed to go in and see him, Buffy and Spike had once again retreated to the waiting room. Buffy had a sleeping Heather on her lap, and he herself looked absolutely exhausted. Spike sat on the chair next to her. She was leaning against him, resting her head against his shoulder. They sat quietly, both content with the silence, and both unsure of what to do next.

The peace was broken when Buffy yawned. Heather squirmed a little in her sleep and Spike looked at both of them with concern clearly written on his face.

"You look totally knackered. When did you last sleep properly?" he whispered in her ear.

She shrugged. "the night before last; I think. Yeah, the first night in the cottage. Even Heather slept almost a full night, and that's pretty unusual."

Spike frowned at her. "You look dead on your , pet. We should get you home."

"Home where?" she asked tiredly. "the cottage is sealed off as a crime-scene and so's probably the B'n B by now. And I'm not that tired."

"Can't fool me, slayer. I know you. You're practically asleep in that chair."

"I've been longer without sleep before, Spike. You know that." She sounded a little annoyed now, and he couldn't help the little smile that touched his lips. She really didn't like people fussing over her.

"Yeah, I know. But plenty's happened in just two days. Moving out of London, finding decapitated bodies, police-investigations, crazed swordsmen..."

"You coming back..." she whispered. He just looked at her. She sighed. "Yeah, I'm tired. More than I'd like to admit, but there is nothing I can do about it now." She looked down on the little girl perched on her lap and smiled. "Besides, I don't wanna disturb Heather by moving right now. Let's let her sleep while she can."

"She's not a sound sleeper normally then?" He asked, looking down at the toddler. Buffy smiled.

"No, she likes to keep me up at night. I suppose it's in her genes."

He didn't answer, but the brilliant smile he aimed at her was better than any words he could have uttered.

She closed her eyes and sighed. "We should go and find one of the policemen. Barrabas or whatever he's called. I want to find out about Paul, then I want to get out of here."

Spike kissed her forehead. "I'll go look for someone to talk to. You just stay here with the little one, y'hear? "

Buffy smiled gratefully, but didn't have the energy to open her eyes. "Just don't punch anyone again, okay? Better stay away from Ben altogether."

Spike frowned. "Ben? The git from the hotel room?" He snorted. "I won't go looking for him, don't worry about that."

She still smiled. "I'm not worried. Now go, so I can get out of here sometime today, please!"

"I'm going", he said, and stood up slowly. He then closed his eyes before inhaling deeply, and then proceeded to follow his nose towards Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N; I won't (can't) tell you when the next update's gonna be, cuz I don't know. I really, really don't. I just promise I will, and that the story will be finished, but if it will be next month or in ten years I can't say. Sorry...

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After the explosive end to the former watchers council things had been changed. Not just the multitude of slayers, but the overall structure of the ancient organisation had undergone a massive renovation under the watchful supervision of the new head of the council, Rupert Giles.

One of the first things that was created was a brand new research department, constantly manned and accessible during all hours of the day. Centred in London and employing over fifty hard-working watchers (their official title, even though they didn't have much personal experience with slayers or work in the field, if any at all), they could on a good day dig up information needed by a group of slayers stationed for example in the jungles of central America and send it to the people in urgent need of it in a matter of hours, when in the days of the old council the single slayer and her watcher would have had to spend several days researching by themselves, and by the time they had found out what type of demon they were dealing with and exactly how to get rid of it, it might already have been to late.

The department had been working around the clock since the mysterious skinless demon had appeared in Heathers room, but had failed to come up with anything. Or rather, they had come up with an endless supply of more or less improbable theories; there was a surprising amount of quasi-demonic entities that fit the description Paul Horner had given.

Now, when he was relatively sure that Paul had lied about the whole thing, or at least hallucinated it (perhaps because of some outside influence), Giles had called the department and given them the new facts as he understood them; Paul must have been possessed by someone or something. Something wanted Buffys daughter, and had constructed a rather complicated plan to get to her.

Something else had occurred to him; whatever or whoever was behind all this, he/she/it apparently wanted the whole scheme set in Midsomer, or else the kidnapping could easily been done in London if the thing already had control over Paul. They had been herded here (or rather, Buffy and Heather had) like a flock of sheep in front of a shepherd, but why? What was so special about this place?

One more thing for research to find out.

He had called as soon as the impromptu interrogation with the DCI had ended, and now, half an hour later he was surprised that the people in the research department was already calling him back. Having a vague idea that mobile phones were not allowed inside the hospital he went outside the glass doors to pick up the phone. It was raining again, in small, flying droplets that in reality was barely more than thick fog, but he felt more or less safe from the wet where he was, huddled against the wall of the hospital just outside the glass doors. He answered the phone, and for the next seven minutes everything was quiet except for the occasional 'allright', or 'go on' from Giles. Then he ended the phone call and went inside again.

There had not been much new information on the thing that wanted Heather, but some new and to his mind very interesting things about this place had been excavated amongst the dusty tomes (and nowadays, probably on the internet as well; this was the new and modern watchers council after all). Just enough at least that he was convinced that the best course of action right now were to be as far away from the county Midsomer as humanly possible.

cdcdcdcdcdcdcdcdcdcdcdc

The smell of soap with a slight undertone of cut grass that translated into 'DCI Barnaby' in Spike's brain led him to the corridor outside Paul Horner's room. It was deserted now, but it hadn't been empty for long. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose to pick up the scent again.

Close. Very close.

When he opened his eyes the fist thing he saw was the very man he was looking for emerging from a door at the end of the corridor. An older woman with grey hair in a loose ponytail followed behind him. They were talking, but Barnaby seemed preoccupied; he was looking through a thick file of papers at the same time as walking.

When the woman glanced ahead of her and saw Spike she stopped dead in her tracks and quieted in the middle of a sentence. Barnaby noticed her silence,stopped as well and cast a curious eye at her before following her line of sight and locking eyes with William the bloody.

He hadn't actually heard anything they'd said, despite his enhanced hearing, but it didn't take a genius to work out what, or rather who, they had been discussing. Spike smirked.

"Ooh, my ears are burning! Talking 'bout little old me, were you?" He didn't get the reaction he'd anticipated. In fact, he didn't get any reaction at all. They just continued staring at him. His smirk faded, and he crossed his arms, leaned against the wall in the most nonchalant stance he could manage, and cocked his scarred eyebrow at them.

"Well, don't get all embarrassed about it. I know I'm a fascinating subject." he nodded towards the papers in Barnaby's hands. "Interesting reading in there, Detective Chief Inspector?"

Barnaby could practically hear the capital letters dropping into place when Spike uttered the words 'Detective Chief Inspector' with exaggerated care. He glanced down quickly to the file, then looked back at the vampire.

Vampire...

He could still not entirely believe it, despite the evidence he'd seen. All rational thought in his head practically screamed at him that there was no such thing as vampires, and yet... Brenda had given him the file, Rupert Giles had told him an incredible story and William Sinclair's face had changed into the features of a monster before his very eyes. Nothing seemed to make any sense any more.

'So let's force it to make sense,' he thought to himself. 'Let's see if I can't hammer this into shape, after all.'

"Some of my contacts came through. I had been asking about you, and it seems I got even more that I could have hoped for. I would appreciate it if you could clear some things up for me." He offered the file to Spike, who after looking at it warily for a couple of seconds took it hesitantly and opened it. He skimmed over the papers, not really reading the writing but getting the gist of it all anyway. His still rather recently acquired soul cringed at the descriptions of the vile deeds he'd committed during his first ninety years as a vampire, but he'd gotten used to it during the two years since he'd won it back, and he merely felt slightly nauseated. Both Brenda and Barnaby noticed the expression on his face however, one with barely concealed surprise and the other with grim satisfaction.

Brenda couldn't get her head around the fact that the... beast, the horrific monster from the reports was the same man in front of her, the one who seemed disturbed by the text he was reading. Shouldn't he be feeling proud of these bloody deeds?

Barnaby was pleased with the fact that his previous assessment of the young (or rather, the very, very old) man had been proven right; he seemed genuinely repentant of his previous crimes, but he he could also feel the anger and resentment bubbling inside him. If this man truly was responsible for half of what he'd read in those reports, he shouldn't be allowed to walk the streets.

He shouldn't be allowed to live!

That though startled him! He'd never once in his career thought that before, not even about the most disgusting criminals he'd encountered. But he couldn't find it within him to fully regret thinking it, not after the gory descriptions in those papers...

Barnaby didn't know it, and he would have been extremely surprised if he'd found out, but much the same thoughts had flitted briefly through 'the monster's' mind as well. It had quickly faded though. He'd long since made a much peace with it as was possible. Going around brooding about the past all the time wouldn't do any good, wouldn't undo anything he'd done. In the end, he just sighed resignedly, closed the file and gave it back to Barnaby, looking him in the eyes the entire time.

"They've missed a couple of decades", he said, rather quietly. Then he settled against the wall again,waiting for one of them to speak. None of them did, so he continued. "I was actually looking for you," he said to the DCI. "Buffy sent me. She was wondering about the swordsman, and then she wants to leave. The little one needs to be put to bed, and frankly, she does too, even if she won't admit it. She's bloody exhausted."

"Where is she going? Both the cottage and the bed and breakfast are crime scenes." The question was short, clipped, Barnaby's steady, grey gaze not leaving Spikes for a second, his face set in grim features. Spike seemed to sag a little, but he never looked away from the policeman's face.

"Don't know. Away from here, at any rate. She's never been too fond of hospitals. I'm sure the watcher can rustle up something; that's what he's for. Ground service and all that."

A few seconds of silence, blue eyes trying to stare down grey, then a clipped; "No."

Buffy had dozed of on her chair, not that she'd ever admit it. Heather was fast asleep, and today's events had finally caught up with her. Had she been on full alert she log ago would have noticed the attractive brunette woman walking slowly towards her chair, but as it was she seemed oblivious to the world around her...

An incredulous scarred eyebrow shot up in the air. Spike looked hard at the woman behind the DCI and she stared right back at him. Barnaby turned around and looked at Brenda, winning one on Spike by raisin both his eyebrows. Brenda didn't brake the staring contest she had going with Spike, but the words she spoke next weren't directed to him.

"You can't just let them leave, Tom, " she said sharply. "not until I've had the chance to talk to my people at least.

"What soddin' people? Who the hell are you, and what makes you think you have a say in what we can and can't do? I wasn't asking permission to leave, I was telling you; we're going. End of bloody discussion." Those who new Spike would have started backing away by now, or, if they were Buffy, had tried to calm him down, but Buffy wasn't here and all Brenda knew about Spike was what she had read in that folder. Which, considering, probably should have been enough not to antagonize the vampire in front of her. But she was a woman who had always put her job first, and even though she had more or less been retired for several years you could never entirely quit doing what she had been doing since she was twenty years old.

She glared at Spike, William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, and it didn't even occur to her to back down. Now she was addressing the vampire; "You have nowhere to go, as Tom so aptly just pointed out."

"Brenda, we cant keep them here." Both Spike and Brenda now turned their heads to look at Barnaby. "I's not like we have any cause to arrest them. The only thing we can do is to secure some way to get hold of them, and to find out exactly where they're planning on staying."

Brenda opened her mouth to give him an angry reply, but the arrival of Giles interrupted her. He seemed to ignore both her and the DCI and turned directly towards Spike.

"We're leaving now. Go get Buffy and tell her to get ready."

Spike didn't waste any time, but turned around instantly and went back the way he came from. Giles turned towards a fuming Brenda and to Barnaby, who was wearing a facial impression impossible for Giles to read.

"I'll need the address you're staying at, and a phone number on which I can reach you", Barnaby told him.

"We're going back to London", Giles clipped. Brenda gathered her breath, but before she could ay a word Barnaby beat her to it.

"No. You're not leaving Midsomer."

Brenda turned to him. "But you just told.."

"I said they were free to leave the hospital, but not the county."

Giles shook his head. "I'm afraid it doesn't matter. We're leaving any way. This is not your authority, not your jurisdiction any more."

Before a full scale argument could break out, Spike came running back towards them. The expression on his face was both terrified and frightening to look at.

"They're gone," he said, clearly only addressing Giles. "Buffy and Heather are gone".


End file.
